


Truth is the Only Reality

by JodyNorman



Series: The Legacy [8]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Psychic Bond, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:39:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JodyNorman/pseuds/JodyNorman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old "friend" of Blair's returns with an agenda -- capture Sandburg's will and bend it to his own.  Jim and Blair must fight off the new threat, but it will take all their combined talents to overcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth is the Only Reality

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Sensory Overload #5

          Blair finished the story with a grand flourish and a smile, and Jim chuckled, watching his friend settle down to eat with a sense of peaceful victory filling him. They'd just finished their last case, catching the bastard before he could rape and kill another young man, and Jim had joined Blair in the newly opened Graduate Gardens on campus after Blair had turned in his students' final grades. Bowing to his partner's vocal desire for a "real" meal at a low price after a long semester, Jim admitted privately that the coffee wasn't bad either, although he'd be damned before he told Blair that.

          But now he smiled, watching his partner fork his way through the salad he'd ordered, and sipped his own coffee, savoring the hot drink. The end of Blair's classes, the beginning of the summer, the successful end of a case, and it was Friday and Simon had given them both Monday off.

          The door swung open and Jim glanced over, long habit and training making the thorough survey of the two men entering automatic. He noticed with some pleasure that Blair also glanced up, the practiced analysis in the gaze sparking pride in his partner, but the feeling died at the anthropologist's reaction.

          Blair's eyes widened slightly, then narrowed, and Jim straightened easily as his partner's casual glance focused diamond hard on the two men heading toward them. The moment was gone almost instantly, and Blair smiled amiably as the two halted by their table.

          "Blair boy!" exclaimed the obvious leader of the two, a broad grin aimed straight at the anthropologist. "Great to see you again! I heard you were here, but we arrived so late that I didn't think I'd get to see you before next semester." He reached out to slap Blair on the shoulder, but the police observer shifted just enough that the blow missed. The man's eyes narrowed just slightly, an expression that Jim might have missed if he hadn't been watching for it, then faded into what the officer could have taken for honest welcome if he hadn't known better.

          "Glad to see you again, Chris," Blair said mildly, still smiling but a somewhat vacuous look in his eyes. "And you, too, Dane," he added, nodding to the other man, who smiled eagerly at him. "What brings you two back to this campus?"

          Jim mentally backed off and watched, observing the conversation as if it were part of a case, and these the two he intended to bring down. Chris' light brown hair stood up in a cowlick, granting him an air of innocence that his friendly dark eyes supported. His features were pleasant, his expression intelligent, and he had the unmistakable air of a scholar, something that Jim had learned to read by now. A few inches taller than Blair, the man had the advantage of charisma, and used it well.

          Dane, on the other hand… Jim turned his attention to him, trying not to frown. Blond-haired and with light gray-blue eyes, Dane was almost pathetically eager to please, smiling frequently and hopefully every time either Jim or Blair glanced at him. He hadn't spoken a word, leaving the floor to Chris.

          "You didn't hear?" There was malice in that reply, as well as a thinly veiled triumph, and the friendly voice hid neither. Jim tried not to bridle at it.

          "The department hired me as an associate professor," said Chris, smiling. "A year's appointment, and at the end of it, who knows? Maybe longer."

          "And you, Dane?" Blair deliberately turned to the other man, who blinked, then stuttered helplessly.

          "Oh, Dane's an adjunct," Chris said easily, putting an arm around his friend's shoulders.

          "Ah," Blair replied, nodding. "I see. Well, that's very nice, for both of you. Maybe I'll see you around, then."

          "Oh, I'm sure of it," Chris said. "Who's your friend?" He turned the warm smile on Jim, who met it with an expressionless gaze. The smile wobbled a little, and Chris turned back to Blair, who shrugged.

          "No one you'd be interested in," Blair said, just enough innuendo in his tone to make the insult obvious without revealing his defense of Jim's identity.

          "Well, we really have to be going," Chris said hastily, backing away with Dane in tow. "We'll be seeing you around, Blair." The door swung shut behind them, and Blair's smile died.

          "Count on it," he said softly.

          "Sandburg," Jim started, "what the hell–?"

          "Not here," Blair interrupted, rising and digging out his wallet. "Come on."

          "You aren't finished," Jim said quietly, glancing down at the half-eaten meal.

          Blair didn't glance at it, his gaze focused on the money he was counting out onto the table. "Yes, I am," he said grimly as he dumped the last dime onto the cloth-covered surface and headed toward the door. "Come on."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair refused to discuss the strange meeting, ignoring all Jim's questions until they reached the truck, standing silent under the barrage until the officer unlocked the door for him and headed around the vehicle to his own side.

          It wasn't until the door thudded shut behind Jim that Blair looked at him, the direct gaze cutting off the officer's increasingly angry questions. "What's going on, Sandburg?" he asked instead.

          Blair took a deep breath, then sighed. "It's a long story, Jim, and even though I could tell it to you here, can we wait until we get home?"

          Jim stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, starting the car and pulling out of the lot in a few economical movements. "Why didn't you just say that at the cafe?" he grumbled.

          "Because the truck is shielded and the Gardens aren't."

          Jim barely managed to make the left turn, and slammed the truck into a jarring halt at the next stop sign. "What did you say?"

          Blair sighed again. "I shielded the truck a long time ago, Jim. After Natalie, in fact."

          Jim took his foot off the brake and proceeded through the intersection in a grim silence. "Then I would guess that the loft is shielded as well?"

          "Of course," Blair said matter-of-factly.

          Jim said nothing more all the way home.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "All right," Jim said bluntly as soon as the door to the loft shut behind them. "What gives, Sandburg?"

          Blair shucked off his backpack, dropping it absently on the floor as he dropped into a chair.

          "Chris Jackson, Dane Elliot," he said briefly, cutting off Jim's incipient demand.

          The Sentinel deposited Blair's backpack inside the bedroom door without a word, then joined his friend in the living area, dropping into the cushioned chair beside the sofa. "Go on."

          Blair sighed, leaning back. "I met Chris in the second semester of my masters." He glanced at Jim with a quick smile. "In fact, it was during the time period of my amnesia."

          Jim's eyebrows peaked. "You mean that when you were shot and the amnesia set you back to your masters degree, that was the same time period as when you met Mr. Charisma?"

          Blair grinned. "Yeah. Funny, huh? Interesting coincidence."

          "You taught me not to believe in coincidence," Jim said soberly.

          Blair nodded. "I know. But if it's not coincidence, I don't know what it means. Anyway. I was twenty when I met them, Chris was twenty-six, a year into his doctorate, and Dane was another masters student like me, twenty-four.

          "So there I was, hooked in with these two guys. We were a regular threesome, went everywhere together, did everything, you name it. The best of friends, or so we thought."

          "What happened?" Jim said softly, watching Blair's reminiscent smile fade.

          "I don't really know," the anthropologist said thoughtfully, reaching over to the coffee table to pick up the small gray slinky sitting as a paperweight on top of a stack of papers. Holding it in both hands, he started to shift it from hand to hand. "Chris studied magic and ritual and their use in ancient societies, and traced it forward into current societies. At first it was academic interest only, and he shared a lot of that with us, especially me, since it tied in closely to my area."

          "Um hm," Jim said, more to keep the tale going than because he understood why it would. He eyed the slinky warily, tuning the sound down. "Go on."

          "He started to practice what he'd learned."

          "That's not good, is it?" Jim said, his hackles rising.

          Blair shrugged, pausing the slinky. "Depends on how you use it and what you do with it. After all, I've used stuff like that all my life, particularly since I started to do field work with tribal societies who could teach me more." He started to shift the coil again. "Sometimes I felt like I should've focused on that rather than what I did." He saw Jim stiffen, and grinned. "But I found it was all part of the same thing, so it fell together eventually."

          Jim took a breath, then nodded, his heart unclenching. "What went wrong?"

          Blair frowned down at the slinky, the steady sound of the coils the only sound for a long moment. "Chris didn't understand the reasons for the rules, thought they were superstitions, silly stuff that a 'civilized' man could do without." He took a breath, bringing the two halves of the slinky together and holding them still. "He was wrong."

          "I don't understand," Jim said, eyeing his friend keenly. "What rules?" Watching Blair's intense expression, he realized that this conversation led straight into his partner's own powers and use of them, and that it was probably long overdue.

          Blair shook his head, frustrated. Laying down the slinky on the set of papers, he rose, starting to pace. "Rules that should've made sense to Chris; he'd seen them in enough societies to know that every single one had them, and often the only difference was the wording. The golden rule for Christians, 'harm none' for pagans, the balance sought by the Native Americans, and so on." He paused at the window, then, not looking at Jim, added in a low voice, "I guess if you put it into our language, he didn't seem to know the difference between the right use of those rituals and powers and the wrong use."

          A chill tiptoed up Jim's spine, and he hunched his shoulders against it. "Are you saying he became the equivalent of a metaphysical criminal?"

          "Not a bad metaphor for it," Blair said, smiling faintly as he turned, leaning on the couch behind Jim, who leaned back to look at him. "But he wasn't sophisticated enough to be a criminal."

          "Delinquent, then."

          "Yeah," Blair replied thoughtfully. "Yeah, I guess so. Delinquent. I like that."

          "So what did he do?"

          "He wanted power." Blair stepped around the couch and sat down again. He ran his hands through his hair, then dropped them in his lap and stared down at them. "More specifically, he wanted me."

          Adrenaline shot through Jim, and he straightened, all his defenses going into gear. "Why?"

          Blair lifted his gaze to meet Jim's. "He knew that if he bound someone to his will, he would be able to draw on them to reinforce his own power. I just happened to be his first choice."

          Jim bared his teeth, wondering if the low growl he heard behind him was his imagination. "Go on."

          Blair shrugged, reaching for the slinky again. Jim got there first, covering it, and Blair smiled wryly, his hand dropping. "Not much more to tell. He tried, he failed, he left. Transferred out."

          "And Dane?"

          Sadness touched Blair's eyes. "When Chris couldn't use me, he went after Dane. I defended him, but in the process Dane saw more than he could handle of the metaphysical and he transferred out, too."

          Jim was silent, thinking about a nineteen- or twenty-year-old betrayed by a close friend, defending another, and then abandoned by both. "That couldn't have been easy."

          Blair shrugged one shoulder. "I knew that Chris had taken a dark road and that he was after me, so I was ready for his attack, but it was my first major experience of something like that, and it took me months to get past it. And with all of that, he still got Dane."

          Jim blinked at him. "He did? You mean–?"

          "He's bound to Chris."

          Jim gritted his teeth, the shards of the story falling together into a new whole. "And now he wants you."

          Blair nodded. "That's my guess. And that means that, sooner or later, he'll look at you, too."

          "Huh?"

          "You're my friend, Jim. That in itself would be enough, but Chris is no fool. He probably remembers my focus during my masters, and though that shifted somewhat during my doctorate, Sentinels were still a major focus for me. I've published a few papers on that subject as well as on alternative societies, and he can find them easily. Wouldn't be surprised if he already did, before he even got here, especially if he arranged to come here after me. I would've researched me to the hilt before coming back. It won't take much for him to figure that you're a Sentinel and that I'm your partner. And that," Blair said, smiling grimly, "is enough to make us both targets, particularly you, to get to me."

          Jim clenched his fists, frustration drumming through him. "I'm not gifted that way, Blair. I'm a Sentinel, and a cop, not a shaman. What's to stop him from using me against you that way?"

          Blair's smile faded. "Two reasons, Jim. One is your own stubbornness. He can't take a victim who's fighting with everything he has." _I hope_. "And you would be. Plus the battles you've fought before, with Natalie, for instance, or in Vietnam, or your training in the jungle to be a Sentinel. You're a honed weapon, Jim, and he can't take that easily."

          Jim took a deep breath, confidence moving through him at Blair's words. "And the second reason?"

          Blair looked at him steadily. "We're bound, Jim. And that bond has been tested by fire and reaffirmed by both of us."

          He reached out to turn Jim's left fist to the light, uncurling the fingers with the other hand to reveal the long slender scar that lanced across the officer's palm, and opening his own hand to show the mirror image across his own. "He won't expect that, and I don't think he can break it. Trust in each other, and we'll win, together."

          "Damn straight we will, Chief."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair glanced around warily as he padded into the Anthropology office, but Chris was nowhere to be seen. He relaxed as he pulled the sheaf of miscellaneous papers from his mailbox, turned through the open door and carried the boxes into the graduate lounge.

          Laura glanced up from the stack of papers she was grading and smiled at him, and Bob quirked him a grin before going back to recording his grades. Neither Kira nor Lenore glanced up from the books they were each reading, both ensconced in the overstuffed chairs in the corners of the sunlit room. It was a quiet chamber, ordinary in every way, even with the hum of students missing from the corridors outside.

          "Hey, Blair," greeted Derek Richards, the dean's assistant, stepping out of his office to join the doctorate student in the lounge, "you done already?"

          "Yep," Blair said with satisfaction as he dumped the stack of mail on the long table in the center of the lounge and started to sort through it. "Computer set my final on the first day of finals week, so my grades are already in." He glanced up to grin at Derek, ignoring the long-suffering groans from Laura and Bob. "I am done, done, done, man!"

          "Lucky you," Kira growled without looking up from her book. "Wish I was. Mine's the last slot on Saturday; how's that for screwed?"

          "That was mine last year," Blair agreed. "Saturdays suck."

          "Ain't that the truth, though!"

          The cheerful words sent ice down Blair's spine, and he stepped sideways just in time to avoid the hearty clap on the back that Chris would've given him. Turning, he watched expressionlessly as the man moved into the room, Dane an ever-present shadow behind him.

          The other graduate students shifted uneasily. Chris' familiarity grated on them, and their expressions showed it. He had yet to earn his place among them, and the easy familiarity he displayed was annoying and uncomfortable.

          Blair jumped as something soft curled around his ankle, curbing his immediate impulse to lash out as he looked down and saw the Siamese purring against his foot. The cat looked up at him, and Blair eyed it thoughtfully. This was the same method Chris had used to ensnare Blair years ago, and in fact, it even looked like the same cat. The dark glint in the animal's eyes convinced him that the similarity was not accidental, and he moved his foot out of its embrace. He could feel the spell the cat carried, but thanks to his own shielding, it was harmless – this time.

          He looked up just in time to catch Chris' frown at his movement, and for a moment their eyes met.

          "Well, hello all," the dean said as she stepped in, breaking their locked gazes. Chris swung around to face the group, and Blair leaned back against the wall. "I see you beat me to it, Chris, Dane. All of you, I'd like you to meet Chris Jackson and Dane Elliot. You may remember Chris; he tried out for one of the associate professor openings and got it. Dane is an adjunct for the department for next semester, and a good friend of Chris."

          Blair straightened, his lips pressed into a thin line. He'd been to those interviews and seen those candidates deliver their talks to the graduates, and Chris had not been among them. He had forgotten that until now, but he had not realized just how much effort Chris must've put into coming to the university, if he could force the dean to believe that he had applied before.

          It wasn't selling with the graduate students, though. Kira frowned, glancing up from her book with a sharp gaze. "I don't remember them," she said simply, and the others looked doubtful as well.

          "Oh, nonsense," the dean said cheerfully as the cat wove its way into the room. "Of course you do."

          Bob shook his head, frowning. "Well, actually–"

          The cat sprang onto the table and butted its head against his hand, and Bob absently answered the implicit demand by petting it, his expression shifting as he did so from doubt to recognition. "Oh, yeah, now I remember." He smiled, gesturing to Chris with the unoccupied hand. "You were dressed really snazzy, and your talk was really impressive."

          "Huh?" Laura said, laying down her pencil as the cat made its way to her. "Well, if you say so," she continued doubtfully, stroking the feline automatically. "What am I saying?" she asked, blinking. "Of course I remember. You came early, and I remember I was impressed with the coat you wore."

          One by one Blair watched as they all changed their stories, their distrust shifting to acceptance, even liking. Frustration mounted in him as the cat moved around the room, and he ground his teeth. He couldn't fight Chris here or now, on such a minor matter and in front of so many people, but… Damn it!

          The cat halted before Kira's chair, the last graduate who was still frowning, and reared up to place its paws on her leg. She looked down at it, then across the room at Chris, who was watching her intently, as were all the others. "Well, I don't remember you," she said flatly. "And I don't think I like you, either."

          Blair bit back a smile. Kira had always been known for her sharp tongue, and more than once he'd despaired of her deliberate lack of social graces. This time, though, it was music to his ears.

          The cat patted her thigh, mewing softly. Kira ignored it, looking across at Chris, whom Blair could see was beginning to frown.

          Blair looked down at the floor, then moved his foot and deliberately stepped onto the cat's shadow, stretching long across the floor, and ground his heel on it.

          The cat yowled, leaping away from Kira with a bound, and started toward Blair, growling low in its throat, its tail lashing violently. Blair met its eyes steadily, flicking the fingers of the hand hidden behind Chris in a small gesture. The cat snarled.

          Kira laughed, a harsh sound that broke up the duel, and the cat, with the impulse of all its kind that hated being mocked, sat down and began furiously cleaning itself.

          Chris chuckled, too, though it sounded forced to Blair. "Sorry about that. He's still not used to being with a lot of people, but he'll learn. Guess you're not too good with cats, Blair." He managed to make the entire spat sound as if it had been the anthropologist's fault, and Blair smiled faintly.

          "Oh, I wouldn't say that, Chris," he said easily. "I get along fine with most animals. I'd say your cat needs some socialization lessons, though." He turned and scooped up his mail from the table, noting Kira's steady gaze on him. And for just a moment he caught a startled, almost hopeful look on Dane's face as he passed him.

          A wary satisfaction touched him as he strode out of the room, exiting before anyone could call him back, and before Chris could catch his balance.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood in the doorway to Dane's office, watching his friend. Dane sat at his desk, reading a book with such intensity that he didn't even notice his observer for long moments. Finally Blair shifted from foot to foot, bouncing slightly as the energy inside him hummed.

          The faint scuffling sound penetrated Dane's concentration, and he glanced up, starting heavily as he sighted Blair. A mixture of emotions fled across his face – fear, envy, sorrow, longing, liking, respect, awe, and several others that Blair couldn't identify. He cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, swallowing.

          "Hey yourself," Blair said, his tone careful but friendly. "How's it going?"

          Dane shrugged, a flash of fear and despair in his eyes and then gone.

          "That bad, huh?" Blair answered his own question, stepping into the room, wondering why it wasn't shielded. Chris' office was, but for all the metaphysical energy in Dane's office, it might have been the man's own, with no knowledge of anything else.

          Dane watched him enter, his look that of an animal eyeing possible freedom through the bars of its cage.

          "Hmm," said Blair as he paced cautiously through the room, sensing every piece of floor before touching it with his sandal-shod foot. "You know, man, I wouldn't have pegged you as wanting to come back here." He stopped next to a bookcase and inspected the book-laden shelves, running a light finger just above the dusty grain.

          "I–" Dane stopped to clear his throat. "Well, times change," he said lamely.

          Blair cast him a swift glance, then returned his attention to the shelves, ignoring the books for the wall behind them. "Really?" He felt Dane's shrug without looking, and added gently, "Hey, collars and cages will do that."

          An instant before the second voice broke in, he found it – the thread that ran through the structure of the room, making of it a trap to be sprung when the prey was well within.

          "And you'll know more of those than you ever dreamed of."

          The voice was silky and triumphant, and Blair turned without haste. Chris stood in the doorway, smiling, and the police observer saw the moment when Dane realized the truth of the trap.

          "No!" He started to his feet, babbling, "No, Chris, you promised, not him, not me, not this way! You said–"

          "I said he would come to us, and he did."

          "Us!" Dane spat, and for a moment Blair saw the strong young man he'd known and loved years before, when fear had not chained him so strongly into another's fold. "There's no us in this; there never was! You said he would come freely; you had no right to use me as bait, not when–"

          "I have every right," Chris said without taking his gaze from Blair. "Or do you forget your place? And now his, too?" He fingered the gold pin clipped to his jacket, running a nail down it, hard.

          Dane cringed, dropping back into his seat with bowed shoulders. He shot a miserable glance at Blair, who leaned casually against the bookshelf, his arms crossed and one hand, hidden behind him, quirked around the invisible string that lay against the wall of the room.

          "You always were power-hungry, Chris," he said quietly. "You never had the patience, or the discipline, to reach for the higher arts, so you always took the easy way. That has its price."

          Chris laughed, the sound large and hearty, echoing in the still room. "And you always were flighty, and moralistic, and afraid of me. And you were right to be." He grinned at Blair, a smile that held a cruelty that would have made a younger Blair shiver. But he was partner and shaman to Jim's Sentinel now, and experience had honed him in ways the older man could not guess.

          He returned the smile with easy relaxation, and glanced briefly at Dane. "I'm sorry about this, Dane." And he pulled the thread in one quick yank, twisting it with a movement that broke it like so much glass. For a moment, as he stood straight and alert beside the bookcase, he thought he could almost see it in his open palm, a dark thread twirled through with black and red and dull green, and then it was gone as the trap recoiled upon its maker, snapping back like a stretched rubber band.

          Chris had time for only one hoarse cry before crumbling into a pain-racked huddle, whimpering as the trap played out its energy on its creator.

          "Do good, and good shall be returned to you," Blair quoted softly, looking back at Dane, who was staring at him with renewed, desperate hope. "Do evil, and it shall be returned to you nine-fold. You never did believe the rules, Chris."

          "Oh, God," moaned the sorcerer, his eyes filled with tears of pain. He flung out a hand in Dane's direction, passing on part of the agony, and Dane stiffened, then collapsed, his chair crashing backward as he fell, writhing. Chris started to struggle to his feet, murderous fury in his eyes.

          Blair quickly stepped around the desk and leaned to touch Dane's shoulder. "Trust me!" he said passionately as Chris won to his feet.

          Dane looked up at him through unfocused eyes and nodded. Blair balled a fist and then threw the open palm at Dane, who stiffened once, then relaxed, bone-limp as unconsciousness caught him.

          Chris, on his feet and in the middle of a gesture, crumbled as the force he'd sent to Dane backlashed again into him, and he, too, fell, the pain escalating into blackout before he struck the floor.

          Blair could not dodge the power thrown by the aborted gesture, though, and racking cramps washed over him, sending him to his knees beside Dane. He rode it out, gasping, and then levered himself to his feet, blinking back tears, and leaned on the desk until the world stopped teetering around the edges.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Sandburg! What the hell're you doing?"

          Blair jumped, almost upsetting the clay doll he'd just placed on the coffee table. He withdrew his hand and leaned back on the sofa, looking up at Jim with some embarrassment. "Hey, man," he said quickly, "I'm really sorry about all this, but you know, you weren't home and–"

          Jim's hand under his chin stopped the flow of hasty words, and Blair's heart sank as the Sentinel turned his face to the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the French doors. With his other hand the officer held back the hair that Blair had carefully brushed forward, and frowned. "All right," he said grimly, releasing the anthropologist with a gentleness that belied the no-nonsense tone. "What happened?"

          Blair sighed, looking away from him. "You're home early."

          "Yeah," Jim said, not moving his rock-hard stance beside the shaman. "The defense attorney requested a recess and the judge granted it until tomorrow noon. Now what happened to you? And don't try to tell me you ran into a door," he added as Blair opened his mouth. "You didn't get those bruises from that."

          Blair grimaced, looking back at Jim. "Nothing, really. I just had a bit of a fight with Chris, that's all."

          Jim's eyebrows hiked dangerously. "Chris? I thought that was supposed to be a shaman kind of thing, so what gives with the bruises?"

          Blair ran a hand through his hair, then stood, pacing off from his housemate. The bounce in his walk was stilled, focused, and watching that, Jim took a deep breath. This was getting serious.

          "It was a shaman kind of thing," Blair said, turning to face him. "I didn't expect the fight to register physically." He frowned thoughtfully. "I think it's because I know more now than I did with Natalie, so it's manifesting on the physical plane. I'm gonna have to work on blocking that." He saw the fierce expression settle on Jim's face and added hastily, "It was a small fight, I promise."

          "That doesn't look small," Jim said through his teeth, his gaze sweeping the bruise purpling Blair's forehead. Stepping forward, he grabbed his friend's shirt, lifting it before the anthropologist could react. "Damn it, Sandburg!" he swore when he saw the band of soft blue-black swelling running down the line of the younger man's ribs. "A little fight?"

          Blair shrugged, tugging his shirt back down as Jim dropped it. "As little as I could make it. It's what I have to do," he added at the officer's frustrated half-snarl.

          Jim took a deep breath, turning to stare at the paraphernalia scattered across the coffee table. "And what's this?" Wandering over, he studied the objects, reaching to touch one of the two clay dolls with a curious finger.

          "Uh-uh," Blair said, catching his friend's hand before Jim could complete the motion. "Don't touch; I don't want this linked to you."

          Jim frowned at him, and Blair sighed. "You weren't supposed to come home early," he said, his tone resigned as he moved around the coffee table and sat down on the sofa. "I planned to have this done before you got here. I know how you get about stuff like this, especially in the loft, and I just figured, you know, that I'd—"

          "Sandburg." Jim crossed his arms, his hard stare never shifting from the anthropologist. "Talk to me."

          Blair's shoulders dropped. "I'm breaking Dane's bonding."

          There was a moment of icy silence, and then Jim asked softly, "Alone?"

          Blair shifted uneasily, not meeting Jim's eyes. "Well, yeah, I'd meant to."

          Another beat of silence before Jim's very quiet words broke it. "And if you'd failed? And I'd come home to that? What then? Damn it, Chief," he ground out, his volume mounting, "I thought we were partners; what the hell did you think you were doing, taking this on by yourself? I thought we were in this together!"

          Blair was instantly on his feet, moving lithely to face Jim, his eyes wide and focused. "We are, Jim, we are! But hey, man, I can't ask you to help me on this kind of thing!"

          Jim gritted his teeth. "You mean that because I'm not a shaman, I can't back you up."

          The words were not quite a question, but Blair sobered, all the energy running out of him like water. "I didn't say that."

          "Yes, you did."

          "No, I didn't!"

          "Turn it around," Jim said grimly. "You're not a cop or a Sentinel. Are you saying you can't back me up?"

          "No, I– I mean, I'm not that kind of backup!"

          "But you're my partner."

          "Yeah, but– That's different, Jim!"

          "Why?"

          Blair stared at him, chewing his lip, and for a long moment there was silence. "But you don't like the shaman stuff," the anthropologist said tentatively.

          Jim opened his mouth to deny it, then paused as the truth of the statement hit him. "Maybe not," he admitted, the words sticking in his throat. "But that doesn't change anything." The truth of the statement reverberated through him and he swallowed. "You need backup. I'm here."

          There was a long moment when neither of them moved, and then Blair started to pace, his expression one that Jim recognized as the anthropologist thinking through yet another connection between a Sentinel and his partner.

          "It would make sense," Blair said thoughtfully, turning back to face Jim in his pacing. "The Sentinel 'grounds,' for want of a better word," he glanced at Jim questioningly, who nodded, "off his partner, the way you use my heartbeat to work off when you're exercising your hearing or something. Maybe the shaman needs the Sentinel to– To what?" he asked, stopping to look across the cityscape again, then turning to circle the couch with slow steps. "Maybe it's not just the Sentinel who grounds off the Guide, maybe it's the shaman who needs the Sentinel to be a… a what? A shield, a protector… a guardian, maybe?"

          Something leaped in Jim's chest, and he caught his breath.

          Blair caught the sound and turned to look at him. "I'm right, aren't I, Jim? The shaman needs the Sentinel to act as guardian; it _does_ go both ways!"

          Jim nodded, unable to find words past the tight feeling in his chest.

          "All right!" Blair thrust his fists in the air, pumping them in a victory sign, then came around the couch and dropped into its cushions, motioning Jim to sit in the chair beside the couch. "Come on, and I'll explain how this works."

          Jim settled into the chair, a familiar feeling of alertness sweeping through him, and the rightness of their facing the situation together relaxed him as he listened.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair seated himself on the floor, cross-legged, absently listening to the CD he'd just started. Celtic music, it had a beat to it that was strong without overwhelming his own preparations, and he knew that both he and Jim could use it to ground off. Clasping his hands in his lap, he stared down at the cloth in front of him, examining the placement of the items on it. Two clay dolls sat in the middle of the makeshift altar, one bound with red and black thread that led to the other doll, tied off around its head. A pair of scissors lay on the right side of the cloth, while a small bowl of water and another of salt sat to the left, together with a long interwoven skein of dark blue woolen thread, soft and silky. Four candles sat at the edges of the altar, their flames burning straight and steady. Behind him Jim stood, feet planted and shoulders set, ready for attack. The circle Blair had drawn around the loft hummed.

          "All right," he said softly. "Are you ready?"

          "Yes," Jim said briefly, and Blair felt the solidity of his support, as if a cliff of rock backed him, and smiled at the security.

          "Then we begin," he said formally. Closing his eyes, he started to chant, weaving in the words of several of the tribes he had studied and his own inventions as a younger man. He felt the circle strengthen, the ritual growing stronger. Opening his eyes, he continued the chant, staring down at the altar. The objects there were no longer simple and mundane, but sacred and imbued with the potential of magic, his magic. "So we stand between the worlds," he said, breaking off the chant and sliding smoothly into English, "prepared to battle with the unseen. Our purpose is to free the chained, heal the wounded, and honor the light within us all. If in so doing we touch the scales of justice this day, then so be it, and we accept the risks and consequences of our actions. We choose to be here of our own free will, and wish harm to none – our purpose to restore harmony and free will to one from whom it has been taken." He took a breath and held it, feeling it resonate with Jim's, then released it.

          "So I say that in this place, at this time, these objects are other than their mundane selves, holding within them the reality of those they represent, and all their bindings as well. The candles here burning are in truth the powers of the four directions, and bring balance and harmony to this, our circle." He lifted the scissors, the tool fitting to his fingers easily as he opened it, holding the blades poised over the red threads wrapped around the dolls. "And as I cut these threads, so too will Dane Elliot be freed from Chris Jackson's bindings, and all that power shall rebound on its caster."

          He paused, aware of Jim's waiting readiness behind him, then snipped the threads in one snap of the scissors' blades.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          In the apartment he shared with Chris, Dane sat bolt upright as the cords that so tightly bound him to a man he'd long since grown to hate with a weary, desperate constancy suddenly broke, snapping like dry straws.

          And he was free, gloriously, splendidly free.

          Chris crashed backward, his recliner literally somersaulting with the force that hit him, and he skidded into a wall, head first.

          But only for a moment, just long enough for Dane to recognize the gentle force that brushed by him. "Blair!" he whispered, watching in horror as the cat raced in from the bedroom, bounding over to its master and standing by him, alert and ready, as Chris struggled to a sitting position, shaking his head foggily.

          Dane stood, almost falling as his balance shifted, then caught it and staggered toward the door, panicked haste driving him.

          Chris met him at the portal, his grin a little strained but real as he stood between Dane and freedom. "Oh, no, my friend, you're not leaving."

          "I'm not yours any longer!" Dane shot back, desperation making him stand up to the man.

          Chris' smile widened, and Dane felt the cat rub against his leg. "Oh, but you will be; that's easy enough to fix. And then," he said darkly, the smile dying, "I'll deal with Blair."

          Dane jerked away from the cat, kicking it with a force he could never have brought against any true pet, and backed away from Chris as the man advanced. "No!"

          But even as he moved, he felt the change, the shift as layer upon layer of protection fell around him. "Stand with us!" The whispered words were Blair's, and he reacted as he had to his friend's request earlier that day, trusting without thought, and stopped, facing Chris with his head up and his feet set, feeling support at his back.

          Chris stopped short, blinking at him, wearing that look that Dane knew meant the man saw something invisible to Dane himself, and the anthropologist wondered what Blair had done that could so shock Chris.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Yes!" whispered Blair, setting the much emptied bowl of salt down on the altar-cloth, staring at the wide circle surrounding the doll that symbolized Dane. Absently he dried his fingers of the water that had followed the salt, making the protective circle twice as strong. "And for the final touch…" He plucked the woven skein of blue yarn from the cloth, wrapping it around "Dane's" chest and tying it off with a practiced knot. "And with this string I do return to you all your native power, all the strength you never used against Chris until too late, and I pronounce you free, never to be used against your will again. This knot is the powers of the divine backing your freedom of self and your right to forever claim that freedom."

          He heard Jim draw a deep breath, and, setting the doll down, he uncurled his legs, straightening to stand with Jim behind him, facing the coming assault together with his friend.

          It came down like a hammer blow from God, and the loft rang with it, sending waves of vibrations through Blair. He staggered, fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the sound boomed through the room. The circle shivered, the loft shields bending to the attack. God, but Chris was strong, if he could call this kind of energy to his use!

          Uncertainty twisted through Blair, and he stumbled as the second wave hit, rushing over them like some huge wave of sand and grit. Blair fought the urge to choke, knowing that physically acknowledging the attack just gave Chris more power.

          Blair went to one knee as the third wave hit, the house shaking under him. Darkness blazed through the formerly sunlit windows. The vibrations built until the shaman could hear the high note of glass at its breaking point.

          But the circle held. And the shields held. Blair felt Jim's hands on his shoulders, and realized that his friend only saw and heard part of what he himself did. And therein lay the key.

          "Blair! Blair, damn it, use me!"

          The anthropologist took a deep breath, straining to fill his lungs against the pressure that threatened to flatten him against the wall of the loft. The wind howled past the darkened windows, all but drowning Jim's words, but Blair heard and focused on them.

          What wasn't he doing? The circle and shields were holding, but it was taking everything Blair had to do so, and he wasn't sure how long he could hold out against an assault of this severity. But what was Jim saying?

          "Chief, damn it, let me in! I'm your backup, remember?!"

          "Backup?" Blair heard himself say blankly. Another shockwave hit, and Blair went to both knees, holding on to the circle and shields with all the grim strength he'd honed across the years of his life. The whine grew until his bones ached, and he braced himself against the nearest support, which just happened to be Jim.

          And as if that simple act of belief and trust was enough, suddenly there was a cliff-side of strength behind him, and he drew from it thirstily, slowly fighting his way to his feet.

          An endless time later, Blair took a deep breath, surprised to find himself still standing, Jim still behind him, hands on his shoulders. Darkness guttered and washed around his feet, circling down into the ground and slowly vanishing with a sucking sound, like a whirlpool diminishing into the depths. The wind and vibrations died with it, and sunlight shone through the windows again. The circle and shields stood firm and uncracked.

          Blair stood silent and wary for a moment longer, then exhaustion crashed into him, and a tidal wave of darkness dropped him as his knees gave out. Jim caught him before he hit the floor, and Blair looked up at him foggily. "Thanks," he whispered, Sentinel-soft.

          "Chief, if you ever try to face something like this by yourself, I'll kill you when I find out about it. Understand?"

          Blair tried to nod, but unconsciousness swamped him before he could finish the move.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So, Blair, have you heard that Chris Jackson is in the hospital?"

          Blair turned at Kira's question, a touch of adrenaline surging through him. "Really?" he asked, eyeing her with what he hoped was a sufficiently concerned expression. "No, I hadn't heard; what happened?"

          Kira shrugged, her gaze steady on his face. "Seems like a seizure of some sort hit last night; he's still unconscious and they're worried about a coma. His heart stopped at least once, and I guess he's on oxygen, too."

          "Hmm," Blair said, tucking his mixed feelings away to examine later. "I'm sorry to hear that."

          Kira shrugged. "I'm not. The man made my skin crawl and this department's better off without him. I wouldn't wish him dead," she added, "but if he leaves, I won't be sorry."

 _You and me both_. "And Elliott?" Blair asked casually. "What about him?"

          Kira tucked her hair behind one ear, examining him for a long moment. "The grapevine has it that he's staying in a hotel."

          "Umm," Blair replied, glancing down to sort through his mail and dropping two sheets of paper into the recycle bin. "Which one?"

          "The Ramada over on Fifth and Broadway." She glanced over her shoulder as a young woman hailed her from the doorway, then back at Blair. "Got to go."

          She headed toward the door without a goodbye and Blair smiled faintly. Kira's lack of politeness was a byword in the department but he was glad she seemed to be on his side, though her sharp eyes saw too much for his comfort.

          "By the way, Blair," Kira said, standing in the doorway, "if you see Dane, tell him to drop by the department more often. I'd like to meet him without his friend around."

          "If I meet him," Blair said deliberately, glancing up from the letter he was reading, "I'll do that."

          Kira nodded and vanished around the corner, her footsteps pacing down the hall.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood at the door to the hotel room for a long moment before raising a hand to knock, but when he did the move was firm and the sound echoed down the third floor hallway.

          A shuffling sound on the other side of the door drew his attention away from the small girl watching him solemnly from the stairwell. Blair waved at her as he felt the gaze from the peekhole, and wasn't surprised when the girl ducked shyly out of sight. He glanced back as the door opened and Dane faced him, the man's smile tentative but real.

          Blair let his own smile grow as he took in the thankful relief and joy that surrounded Dane, and the adjunct blushed, then stepped back and gestured him in.

          Blair stepped over the threshold with a deep sense of satisfaction, and wandered across the room to the stuffed chair, into which he dropped. There was a refreshing neutrality to the room, and he relaxed into it, watching as Dane seated himself on the edge of the neatly made bed.

          "So," Dane said, uncomfortably but with a smile, "it's over. And he's gone."

          Blair's smile died, and Dane stiffened. "That's what you thought last time, too, remember?" the shaman reminded, cocking his head at the man.

          "You mean he's–?" Dane stood, turning away for a long moment while he fought God only knew what demons. "Yes," he said, the word stifled. "But– But– Damn it, Blair!" He whirled to face the shaman, all the desperation and dread returning anew. It had faded as he had moved into the then-bare hotel room and begun to make it his own, with no taint of the master who had ruled his life for so long, but now it was back, and doubled for the hours of its absence. "I can't fight him; God knows I've tried, and I don't think I could bear it if he came back and stole my soul again!"

          Blair held up his hands, the gesture halting the frenzied words, and Dane stared at him, mingled hope and fear clear on his face. "I can't hide behind you all the rest of my life, Blair."

          "You won't have to," the anthropologist said soberly, lowering his hands into his lap. "But when Chris wakes…" He saw Dane's expression, and shook his head, "When he does, there'll be a final battle. And if we stand together we can force him to accept that you're off limits now."

          Dane hesitated, then shook his head. "I don't know, Blair. It was you he really wanted, you know. After this that will be doubly true. I'm not so sure he'll come for me first… He might just go after you."

          "I know," Blair agreed quietly. "If he comes after me first, okay, I'll deal with it. If he comes after you, we can beat him if we stand together."

          Dane took a deep breath and nodded, not daring to speak. "But how will we know when that happens? How will either of us know when it's time?"

          "Hmm," Blair said, frowning. He had originally intended to offer Dane the loft as a place to live until the situation was settled, though Jim was very reluctant to welcome the man as a guest. And Blair had to admit himself unwilling as well; he and Jim had built something that they couldn't show to outsiders, and the loft was their sanctuary against a world that mislabeled and denied them. But it had seemed like the safest place for Dane, and Jim had agreed.

          Now, though, Dane had made the hotel room his, for all its bare simplicity. He had relaxed here as he would not at the loft, where he would feel as much the outsider as he had in the apartment with Chris. That would alienate him, making his footing tentative and uncertain, just at the time he needed it firm and sure.

          Blair raised his head to study the room, then rose and wandered around it, brushing a hand across a wall, tracing the door hinges, making it familiar to himself.

          "Blair?"

          The young anthropologist turned back to his friend, who was watching him uncertainly. "Chris was never here, you know," Dane said, "so this place is safe." Thinly hidden behind the statement was the dread-filled question, 'Isn't it?'

          Blair nodded, pausing in his examination. "Yeah, Dane, I know. The place is clean. But if I mark it, then I'll know if Chris finds you."

          "Using me as bait?" A faint bitterness underlay that, and Blair shook his head.

          "Dane," he said gently, "he will come after you. Your freedom is an affront to him he won't be able to resist, and it won't matter if you're here or in Honduras. He'll still come, either after he attacks me or before. But this way, you'll have allies, and I don't think he'll expect that."

          Dane hesitated, then nodded. "It won't be like what he did, in my office, will it? I mean, it's not a trap or something?"

          Blair shook his head. "To do that I would have to make the room mine rather than yours, and that would ruin the purpose. No, I would simply leave a thread here that would tell me when he arrived." He grinned. "Kind of like an early warning system."

          Dane nodded. "I get it. Do what you have to. And Blair?" He hesitated until the shaman turned back to him. "Thanks. Thanks a lot. I haven't been much of a friend to you, and you're doing a lot for me."

          Blair shrugged, looking at him steadily. "It's my job, Dane. And you were friend enough. It's not your fault you were thrown into this situation."

          Dane looked down at his hands, tightly clasped in his lap. "Thanks," he whispered.

          Blair left him to himself and went about the business of placing a subtle but strong thread curling around the place.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim watched the defense attorney call another witness to the stand, and settled back in his chair, smiling at the predatory look on the prosecuting lawyer's face. They were going to win this one; he could feel it. The bastard was going away for a long time. And that certainty made waiting out the rest of the afternoon bearable.

          He let his thoughts drift back to the night before, his smile waning. Last night, what to say about last night? Weird didn't begin to describe this situation. But then, weird hadn't described the situation with Natalie, either, but it had been real.

 _Too real_ , Jim thought with a shiver. Weird stuff made him nervous. Up to this point, he'd been sort of along for the ride, so to speak, caught in the middle of situations without a choice. Last night, though… last night he'd had a choice. Either work with Blair, or let Blair do the work alone. Be an active agent in weirdness, or merely an observer. And he'd chosen.

          The end result of that choice was that now he was part of Blair's shaman stuff, just as the Chief was part of his Sentinel stuff. And that reciprocity gave him a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

          Before this he'd always felt outside the circle in some ways. Blair had supported him, pulled him out of zone-outs, taught him to handle his senses, given him answers to questions that no one else could even understand. But Blair understood. And he was always there for Jim, no matter what, and when the chips were down he always pulled something out of the hat.

          But the support had only gone one way, or so Jim had felt. He knew Blair would've told him he was wrong, but the fact was that the only trouble Blair got into was on Jim's account, and though the Sentinel had managed to rescue him several times, he still felt like the Chief gave and he received. And when Sandburg started acting as a shaman, the inequality became even more obvious, at least to Jim, as his partner exercised powers and abilities that he himself couldn't understand, and didn't want to. And the Sentinel couldn't help him or defend him, or even follow him.

          But now it was different. He still couldn't follow his friend, but he could walk beside him, and most important of all, he could protect him. He might not be a shaman, but he was a Sentinel, and it was that, more than anything else, that enabled him to be there for Blair in this situation. And the rightness of that reciprocity, the… the _balance_ between them, was deeply satisfying.

 _Now_ , he thought, smiling, _now, we're truly partners_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair swung out of the Anthropology building, smiling at a fellow graduate student as he passed. After meeting Dane and settling the situation with him, he had met the chair of his dissertation committee to discuss his own progress. Now, crossing campus to his car, he finally had time to think about Chris, and what he needed to do with him.

          The truth was that Blair wasn't sure how to proceed. In his dealings with the metaphysical to date, he had defended himself and his own, but had only attacked as a last resort. Now there was a lull in the action, and Blair had to confess that he was uncertain what to do with it – and with Chris, either now or in the final combat. For there would be one, he knew that, and there was a voice that whispered in his soul that he'd be wise to take care of Chris now, while the man was unconscious and at his mercy.

          But dealing with life's enemies that way would make him as evil as they were, perhaps more so. The fighter who stabbed another in the back to prevent more battle was a coward and a dishonorable man, and though common sense warned him it might be the best way to deal with the situation, Blair turned away from it in disgust. Expedient it might be, but before he lived with anyone else he had to live with himself, and how could he meet his own eyes in the mirror the next morning if he crept in, like a thief in the night, and killed or maimed Chris in cold blood? And how would he live with the darkness that would surely blight the bond between himself and Jim, sullying it with grime?

          Blair shook his head as he unlocked his car door and climbed in, grimacing at the dusty windshield. It either had to rain enough to clean it, or he needed to stop at the gas station and do it himself. In some ways it reminded him of his life right now, and of his situation with Chris. _Through a glass, darkly…_

 _What am I going to do?_ he asked himself, and found no answer waiting.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was two days later, and Blair waved a cheerful goodbye to his fellow committee members as he rounded the corner of the hallway leading to the back stairs of the Anthropology building. Even in summer, he still had committees to attend, fellow grad students and professors to work with, studying to do, and, of course, his dissertation to write. But at least he didn't have to teach, and that was–

          The tidal wave that loomed over him was so sudden that all Blair had a chance to do was grab the stair-rail with one hand as he raised the other in a vain attempt at defense. The wave crashed into him, swamping him in a darkness so cold that he was instantly shivering.

          Never had the absence of light seemed so intensely… material, and Blair sucked in a breath through lungs that abruptly constricted, forcing him to wheeze as he had once when he'd suffered through his one bout with pneumonia.

          _Cold, so cold._ Bitter winds ripped by him, smashing him into rocks that he couldn't see. He threw up his arms to shield himself, and lost his balance, falling into a black hole that sucked him down, and down, and down…

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Kira rounded the corner after Blair, remembering a question that she'd forgotten to ask him. She was just in time to see Blair lose his grip on the stair-rail, raising his arms before him and twisting away from something before his balance shattered and he fell headlong down the stairs.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim, sharing a late lunch with Simon in celebration of the end of the trial, froze mid-sip, then threw his glass of filtered water across the small deli and lurched to his feet, his expression one of stunned horror. He paused briefly, oblivious to Simon's worried questions, then thrust himself, weaving uncertainly, through the doors and into the nearest hedge, meeting it with such force that he fell to his knees, and stayed there, his eyes closed, completely unresponsive to Simon's increasingly frantic queries and to all of his friend's efforts to move him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Kira ran down the stairs with furious speed, skidding to a halt beside Blair's still body and dropping to kneel beside him. His skin was frigidly cold to her questing fingers, but his pulse was strong. Too strong, in fact – racing. She wavered for a moment, her fingers circling his wrist, then started to her feet to find help.

          Blair's hand twisted over and closed on hers, and sudden darkness swept over her, a bitterly cold wind knifing through her thin shirt. She was standing now, Blair's hand still in hers, and she sucked in a breath, automatically starting to release him to wrap her arms around herself to keep what small warmth she could.

          "No," Blair said, his low voice audible to her even through the howling wind. "If you acknowledge it, you make Chris that much stronger."

          Academics are trained to think, and such skills work even in bizarre situations. Kira drew a deep breath and relaxed, trying to stand as she would in the Cascade summer she'd obviously left behind. "What's going on?" she asked in a normal voice, matching Blair's even tone. "You said Chris?"

          She heard Blair's sigh, and it seemed the howling wind dropped a notch at the soft sound. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to drag you into this, but since I did, yes, this is Chris' doing. It's a long story…"

          "And this isn't the time to tell it," Kira said, bracing herself against a particularly heavy gust even while she tried to relax and tell herself it wasn't real. "What can we do to stop him?"

          Blair hesitated, then said soberly, "I need you to lend me your strength; mine isn't enough to win this, just enough to resist it."

          Kira was silent a moment. "How?"

          She heard Blair take a deep breath, heard the wheeze at the effort, and the ragged exhalation. But whatever pain he felt, he made no sound, and she had to respect his stubbornness. "You have to visualize some way of giving it to me, some mental picture that makes sense to you."

          Kira nodded, then said briefly, "All right. Whenever you're ready."

          Blair swayed faintly as a hard gust hit them, and sidestepped just enough to keep his balance. She heard the bitten-off gasp as he moved, and frowned. "Blair, are you hurt?"

          There was a moment of silence, during which she could hear his strained breathing, and her hand tightened on his. A wash of pain swept over her, etching her ribs with crackling fire. Her right ankle ached fiercely, and her arms suddenly smarted from elbow to wrist. She realized that the darkness and the winds were intensely personal for Blair, and that what she felt was just part of what buffeted him. Just as abruptly she felt Blair's alarm at the unsought sharing, and there was a searing touch of fire and her body was her own again.

          "Sorry," Blair said, unable to conceal the shudders that shook him. "I didn't mean for that to happen."

          Kira pressed her lips together, worry climbing in her. She'd always liked Blair – he was smart, savvy, and not arrogant about it, and he treated her with courtesy even when she knew she was blunt. But the only way to help him now was to get out of wherever they were, and to do that…

          "No problem," she said. "I'm ready when you are."

          She felt him nod. "All right. Now."

          Kira closed her eyes and visualized her own strength as a river of lava, molten rock moving as water. Blair alone it would not burn, only warm, but anyone else it would devour alive. She visualized it sweeping into Blair, warming and supporting him, and heard him gasp, his hand tightening on hers as he wavered and went to one knee. She would've stopped, a spurt of worry halting her, but he shook his head.

          "N-no," he whispered, the ragged whisper catching her before she could halt the river. "Don't stop."

          She freed the lava, imagining it wrapping Blair in her strength, and he was quiet, though she could feel him working with it, weaving something. The wind abruptly felt colder, but its force waned, and the darkness was slightly less intense.

          "Blair!"

          The mental space echoed to the shouted name, and Blair moved to it, lifting his head sharply. Kira felt his hope crystallize, and realized that they must still be linked somewhat for his feelings to be so clear.

          "Over here, Jim," Blair said softly.

          Kira blinked at the man suddenly kneeling beside Blair. A large man, she'd seen him around campus with the anthropologist, and knew him for the police officer that Blair worked with. But here, in the supernatural darkness and the eerie howling winds, false assumptions were impossible, as was concealment of self or relationships. She remembered Blair's passionate interest in the "guardian of the tribe", and drew a deep breath. Sentinel, and Guide.

          "What happened?" Jim asked, running light fingers over Blair, noting the winces as his touch fired pain. "Chris?"

          Blair nodded, and Kira realized that she could see him. The darkness was lightening still more, and she could feel Blair still working, her own strength still pouring into him.

          "Later," the anthropologist said briefly, raising his free hand to touch Jim reassuringly. "Now, we have to get out of here."

          Jim nodded, then stood, moving around to stand in back of the two of them, resting one hand lightly on Kira's shoulder and pressing his knee against Blair's back. "I'll guard."

          Before his arrival, Kira had known Blair was fighting an uphill battle, but now, with Jim's support at his back, his progress was much faster, and Kira felt the winds die still more, the temperature climb, the light grow stronger. It was like climbing out of the depths of the sea, with sunlight before them, and it wasn't long before they stood in calm, warm waters, with Chris' threat stilled.

          At last Blair ceased to draw on Kira, releasing her hand gently. "Thank you," he said, relief behind the smile he turned on her. "And Jim–"

          But whatever he would've said to his partner came too late as his abused body caught up with him and, freed of the urgent drive to fight and endure, he swayed then crumbled, falling into a relaxed curl that was endearing in its vulnerability.

          Jim stooped and caught him up, holding him easily. "Where is he?" he demanded of Kira, who brushed her hands down her slacks and eyed him thoughtfully.

          "At the bottom of the back stairwell leading out of the Anthropology building," she said succinctly. "I'll call for help."

          There was a moment when the world spun out of focus, and then she was kneeling beside Blair's still body at the bottom of the stairway, his hand just slipping out of hers.

          She took a deep breath, blinking in the semi-darkness of the almost-deserted building, then reached to check Blair's heartbeat, finding it strong and steady. But if his heart was none the worse for the experience, the same could not be said for his body. On this side of reality he lay in a similar position to that he'd fallen in there, his shirt ripped almost in half, his shorts torn up one leg, the white of his briefs showing through. And even in the shade of the stairway Kira could see the bruises, livid across his face and lightly purpling the ribs and chest revealed through the slashed fabric. She pushed aside the clothing without thinking, grimacing at the scrapes and scratches that marred the smooth skin, and noticed the same across his arms, the right arm in particular marred by one great scratch from elbow to wrist.

          The high-pitched beeping of a cell phone suddenly echoed in the stairwell, and Kira twisted around, seeking the source of the sound and finding it in Blair's backpack, thrown when he landed. She dug through it and brought out the instrument, flipping it on and bringing it to her ear. "Yes?"

          "Is this–? Damn it, is Blair there?"

          "This is Jim, right?"

          "Yes. Is Blair–?"

          "He's here," Kira answered bluntly. "He's bruised, scratched, and unconscious, but his breathing and heartbeat are strong. Do you want me to call an ambulance?"

          "No!" Jim said explosively, his breathing ragged as if he'd been running. "We'll be right there; don't move!" The line went dead, and Kira replaced the phone in Blair's backpack with an absentminded focus, all her attention on Blair.

          She heard the screech of brakes in the parking lot outside, doors slamming, and then running footsteps.

          Jim raced around a corner, skidding to a stop beside Blair and dropping to one knee, reaching out with one hand to check his friend's heartbeat, then gently examining him.

          Kira watched him, her own exhaustion suddenly fogging her reactions. Blearily she watched another man, an older African-American, stride quickly into sight, concern intense on his face. He halted beside Kira and stood watching the two for a long moment, his lips set. He grimaced, shaking his head slightly, then glanced down at Kira.

          "And you are?" His tone was terse, but Kira wasn't disturbed by his bluntness.

          "Kira Randall," she said, levering herself off the floor. The ground moved and she staggered, buoyed by the man's hand under her arm. "I'm a friend of Blair's."

          His expression lightened faintly, and he nodded without removing his support. "Tired?"

          She nodded, blinking as the world blurred, then sharpened back into focus. "Some."

          His lips quirked. "Yeah, they do that to people. What happened?"

          Kira shook her head. That was Blair's business, and Jim's, not this man's, however close a friend he obviously was.

          He frowned, then glanced over as Jim stood, cradling Blair in his arms in a move so like that Kira had just seen over there that she blinked, overcome by a surge of déjà vu.

          "Well, Jim? How is he?"

          "I have to get him home," Jim answered shortly, starting toward the door. "Now."

          "Hey, Jim, wait a minute," said Simon, loosing Kira and taking a step to catch up with his friend. "Maybe a hospital–?"

          "No."

          "For God's sake, Jim, why not?!"

          Jim glanced over his shoulder as he neared the corner. "Because the loft is shielded and a hospital won't be."

          Simon's mouth dropped open, then closed. "You're even starting to talk like him! Jim, do you have any notion how that sounds?"

          "Yes," Jim said. His gaze slid over Kira, and he halted momentarily, turning to face her. "I never got your name."

          "Kira Randall," she said, forcing the burning weariness down so that she didn't slur the words.

          Evidently she wasn't quite successful, for he frowned. "You're tired," he stated, then glanced at his friend. "Simon, take care of her, all right?" He looked back at her, something in his eyes halting her protests before they started. "I'm sorry you got caught up in this, but thank you. It wasn't your business, but you were there for him. I won't forget that."

          She shrugged, blinking as the walls hazed around her. "He's a friend."

          Jim nodded and turned the corner. "And stay away from Chris," he called back, the words reverberating in the hallway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Are you sure about this?" Jim turned to face Blair as the engine died, frowning.

          Blair nodded, his hand on the door handle. "I'm sure, Jim. After all, what can he do to me in a hospital? He sure won't expect to see me there, so it's not like he'll have a trap set or anything like that.

          Jim's frown deepened. "I don't like this, Chief."

          Blair smiled and patted his thigh, ignoring the growl the move elicited. "I know, Jim. But I have to do this. If he doesn't accept the offer, well, we'll know where we stand. But at least I'll have made the effort."

          Jim grimaced. "All right. But I'm going with you."

          "No," Blair said forcefully. "If he doesn't know about you already, let's not give him any ammunition he could use against us later."

          "But I've been there, Sandburg, part of this all the way. He has to know me."

          Blair shook his head. "What he knows is that I have someone at my back. He won't know much more than that, and I'm hoping he won't equate it with you. Anything he doesn't know puts us ahead."

          "All right," Jim said resignedly, loosing the door handle and leaning back in the seat. "I'll be here."

          Blair's grin flashed briefly. "Thanks, Jim." He slid out of the truck before Jim could respond, and wove his way across the hospital parking lot, vanishing into the entrance. The Sentinel sighed and settled down, following his friend with his hearing.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stood in the doorway, watching Chris move the food around on his tray. The man hadn't noticed him yet, and the shaman took the opportunity to study his one-time friend.

          Chris looked tired, even in profile, and Blair could see the slump in his shoulders. An IV dripped into his arm, and an oxygen tube ran under his nose. The woman at the nurse's station had told him that Chris had suffered another seizure and convulsion the day before, lengthening his hospital stay by another couple of days, and Blair had nodded. So that was the price Chris had paid for his attack on Blair. Reading the man's energy, the shaman saw weariness, anger, betrayal, and a touch of jealousy, and shook his head.

          The movement caught Chris' eye and he glanced over, stiffening as he saw Blair. His mouth tight, he quickly sketched a sign in the air, but the younger man sensed it held little energy. "Come to finish me off when I'm down?" Chris said bitterly.

          Blair shook his head as he stepped into the room, moving carefully around his own bruises. "I don't work that way."

          "The more fool you, then," Chris said, hunching his shoulders and shoving the tray out of the way.

          Blair looked at him in silence for a long moment, standing at the foot of the bed and several feet away. "What happened to you, Chris? The man I knew was bright and full of sunshine, eager to learn from the world and work his way through it. His only failing was his carelessness, and that sent you down a dark road. Isn't there a way out of this, man? In peace?"

          Chris snickered. "You always were an idealist, Blair. That's why I'll win this, you know."

          Blair shrugged. "Why are you doing this, Chris?"

          "To take back what's mine!" Chris flung at him, his gaze dark and burning. _Come closer, come to me, you're mine, come to me, come closer…_

          Blair felt the heat, heard the words, but ignored the compulsion, standing still. "What's yours?" he asked. "Dane? Me? Your own self-respect?"

          "You betrayed me, both of you!" The heat grew hotter, more compelling.

          Blair's eyebrows rose. "How?"

          "You took away my place." Chris' eyes narrowed, focusing on Blair, the attraction in his gaze almost sexual.

          Blair relaxed, letting the power wash over him without acknowledging it. "What place?" he asked, frustration rising in him at the irrational conversation. "Your place as a friend? You did that yourself, Chris. Your place as master and ours as slaves? Why would you want that?"

          Chris' lips twitched in a parody of a smile that made Blair's stomach turn over. "Power." He lifted his hands from his lap, opening them in a gesture that was obviously ritual.

          Blair felt the power in the room rise a notch, and a trickle of sweat slid slowly through his hair. He gritted his teeth, refusing to scratch the burning itch. He shook his head. "At what price, Chris? Your soul? Dane's? Mine? What happened to the friend I cared for years ago?"

          "I can use that friendship still, Blair boy. Its mark is on you yet, and that makes you vulnerable. Haven't you learned yet that friendship is a price you can't afford to pay? You're the weaker for it." Chris straightened, staring at him, the compulsion rising even higher. "Come to me!"

          Blair shook his head, relaxing into his own grounding, feeling the earth under his feet, strong and unshakable. "No, Chris. I'm not yours to command."

          "You will be," Chris said softly as he leaned back, closing his hands and resting them in his lap, the compulsion fading. "You will be."

          Blair looked at him steadily, noting the ring on the man's finger. It was dully glowing, dying even as he noticed it. "No, I won't be. I came here to offer you an end to the battle; you go your way and we'll go ours."

          "'We?'" questioned Chris alertly, raising his head from the pillow.

          "You leave Dane alone, and leave the department, and I'll–"

          "You!" Chris laughed, the razor edge of his disgust clear.

          Down the link Blair felt Jim's anger, and tamped down his own annoyance. The more the man underestimated him the better off they all were, and anger fueled Chris' power, not his own.

          "You haven't got it in you to fight me," Chris said jubilantly. "Your strength comes from others, whoever's standing at your back. You don't have it."

          Blair shrugged. "Have it your way." He turned to leave, carefully staying out of Chris' reach as he passed.

          "Hey, maybe that Sentinel of yours would like a replacement when you're gone," Chris said mockingly as Blair reached the door. "Maybe I'll apply!"

          Blair stopped short as Jim's fury blazed through his mind, and the world wavered around him. He caught his mental balance, forced the link to a narrow band, and turned to stare at Chris. "What?"

          Chris' grin widened at Blair's reaction. "Thought I didn't know, did you? That guy you were sitting with at the Gardens that day, that's the Sentinel you're studying, right? Well, when I've taken you – and I will – I'll just up and apply for your position. After all, what's the difference between one anthropologist and another? He looked too dumb to know or care."

          The world glazed over into ice as Blair felt Jim's rage solidify into a glacier-like determination to take Chris down, and he swallowed, knowing what the reaction looked like to Chris and dimly glad of it. But all his attention was focused on regaining control of his own senses, and he was also afraid that Jim's focus on the conversation might result in a zone-out for his friend. He had to cut this short and get back to him, quickly.

          "Yeah, right," he managed, turning back to open the door and stumbling through it to the accompaniment of Chris' low laughter.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair didn't feel secure on his feet until he'd reached the ground floor, and then he started to work on tuning down Jim's intense focus. He'd never tried to do this using the link, and it was both harder and easier than it would've been standing beside his friend. For one thing, the link was still new enough that he wasn't quite sure of all the variables determining its use, so he was forced to work hard at something he wasn't sure how to accomplish. The other thing that made it difficult to 'talk' Jim out of his sensory focus before he zoned was the fact that the link only transmitted words when they were both in an altered state of mind, and this experience didn't qualify. Emotions, attitudes, intentions were tools that just didn't have the specificity and clarity of words, and Blair headed for the truck in a dead run as soon as his feet hit the pavement after descending the stairs leading to the parking lot.

          "Jim!" he said, jerking open the passenger door and throwing himself inside, scrambling around to face his friend.

          Jim sat ultra-still, his eyes glazed as he stared straight ahead. His breathing was slow, his hands locked around the wheel, and Blair swallowed.

          "Okay, Jim," he said softly. "I'm here now, come back to me, come on, focus on my voice, listen to me; are you listening to me, Jim? Come on, follow me, follow my voice…"

          He let the words die as it became obvious that Jim wasn't responding. "Okay, Jim, then let's go the alternate route." He reached out and encircled the man's right wrist with his fingers, rubbed up the arm with the other. Keeping a slow, steady rhythm, he watched his friend closely. "Come on, Jim, come on, now follow my touch back here, back to me; you can feel this, you know that, come on, Jim!"

          The Sentinel blinked.

          It was a small movement, but Blair saw it. "Yes! Come on, Jim, that's the way." He reached up and tugged sharply on his friend's hair.

          Jim blinked again, then took a deep breath, slowly turning to face him.

          Blair grinned, dropping his hands in his lap. "All right!"

          Jim inhaled again, then looked sharply at Blair. "You okay?"

          Blair nodded, serious again. "Yeah. He really couldn't do anything there, like I said."

          "But he really wants you."

          "Yeah," responded Blair soberly, looking away. "Yeah, he does."

          Jim eyed him, seeing the wistful regret in his expression, and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Chief, you did everything you could."

          Blair shrugged, then sighed. "Yeah, I know, Jim. It's not my fault, but I wish I could change what happened to him."

          "He's dead, Sandburg," Jim said bluntly, turning the key in the ignition.

          "I know," Blair said, so softly that only Jim's Sentinel hearing caught it. "My friend died a long time ago."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "So that's what he did!"

          Jim glanced over at Blair's surprised exclamation, pausing in washing off the lettuce for the salad. "What?"

          Blair looked up from the book in his lap, pulling himself up straighter on the couch. "Chris," he said succinctly.

          "What did he do now?" Jim set the lettuce in a spinner and set it to twirling.

          "It's what can he do, really," Blair muttered, the words trailing off as he became absorbed in the book again. "Oh, man."

          Jim halted the spinner, removed the top and shook out the greens into a large bowl, then, choosing a bunch of celery he separated one stalk out, chopped off the leaves and cut it into small sticks. He walked over and offered Blair one, who took it without looking up. Jim didn't release it, and Blair looked up as the unsuccessful tug penetrated his abstraction. "Huh?"

          "Jackson," Jim said. "What did he do?"

          "I just told you," Blair said, frowning.

          "No, you didn't."

          "Oh." There was silence while Blair thought that over. "Are you sure, man? 'Cause I could swear–"

          "Sandburg! What's up with Jackson?"

          "Hey, cool, man. Just chill, okay? No need to get uptight." He saw the Sentinel's bunched jaw muscles and quickly continued. "Chris uses ritual objects to increase his own powers." He saw Jim's blank look and sat up straighter, laying the book beside himself on the couch. "He's learned to infuse objects with energy. That means he can call on it when he needs to." He frowned, his gaze absent again. "I guess that explains how he got me on the stairwell. And why he was so strong when we freed Dane. That's a relief."

          "Why?"

          Blair blinked, focusing on him again. "Because it means he's not really stronger than I am, just more prepared. I wondered, afterward," he said, picking at the lint on the blanket spread over his knees. "I thought maybe it was me, something I hadn't learned, that he was stronger than I was."

          "Chief–"

          "No, Jim, it can happen. Look at Natalie. She was stronger than me."

          "She was stronger than both of us," Jim said, seating himself on the edge of the couch. "And she wasn't human, either, Blair. You told me she'd gathered power over several lifetimes, sucking her victims dry and going onto others, stronger each time." He gritted his teeth against the shiver that racked its way down his spine. Damn it, would he ever be over the woman?

          Blair looked up at him, and the wry, understanding smile he wore made Jim wonder if he'd caught the thought. He flushed slightly, but the anthropologist didn't pursue it.

          "I know," the younger man said, drawing up his knees and resting his chin on them. "I know why she was stronger, and that made sense. But Chris…" He pressed his lips together, staring over the coffee table into a space that Jim couldn't pretend to understand.

          "Go on."

          "Chris took me by surprise on the stairs," said Blair softly. "I could only stand against his attack, not fight it, until Kira got there. But even when she gave me her strength it was barely enough to make headway against what he could do. And when we freed Dane…" He turned to look at Jim, his gaze intense and very bright. "He was so strong, Jim. I didn't expect that. If it hadn't been for you, I couldn't have held against it."

          "But you did," Jim said quietly, reaching to touch him on the shoulder. "You stood against the full brunt of what he did for a while before you used me as backup, and that took a lot of strength, Chief." He dropped his hand, glancing away. What he had seen when Blair had finally leaned on him had been terrifying – the house looked like it was under assault by the denizens of Hades themselves, and the walls shook so hard that he thought he could see light through the bricks. The high-pitched whine had drilled right through to the center of his brain, and the vibrations were so intense that he didn't see how Blair was still withstanding them. He knew that his friend, linked as he was to the shields and the circle, was aware of things that he himself was not, and what he himself had to deal with was more than enough. How Blair could stand up to more was beyond his imagination. Strong? The Chief had more strength than he knew.

          "I thought it was me," Blair said softly, the words bringing Jim back to the moment, "but now I'm not so sure."

          "What do you mean?"

          "I mean," Blair said deliberately, "that Chris isn't using only his own strength. He's stored energy in ritual items – rings, necklaces, gems, and stuff like that – that he can use now."

          "So it's not his energy?"

          Blair shook his head. "Not his present energy, anyway. Power he's stored up since he left, that he can call on now."

          Jim chewed on that idea for a few minutes, then said softly, "So he's not stronger than you."

          Blair took a breath, a distant smile tugging at his mouth. "No. What he threw at me today in the hospital was his own strength, heightened a little by the ring he was wearing. He probably used up a lot of what he had stored during those attacks on us before."

          Jim eyed him, seeing the cautious triumph under the abstraction. "And you resisted him just fine, Chief."

          Blair glanced at him, then smiled, a sudden, bright grin. "Yeah, I did!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair leaned back into a corner and watched as another committee member entered the room down the hall. It was five minutes to the hour, and Kira still hadn't arrived. Blair shifted back into shadow as another graduate student swung down the hall and into the room, the young man's gaze sweeping over him without pausing.

          A few minutes more and he'd have to join them, and who knew if he'd get the chance to talk to Kira afterward.

          Just when he was about to give up and join the others, Kira turned the corner at the far end of the hall and started down it, moving briskly. Blair moved out of his corner, and she blinked upon seeing him, but didn't slow her pace.

          Blair caught her a few steps before the door to the meeting room and said softly, "I need to talk with you."

          Kira stopped and looked at him. "Why?"

          Blair blinked at the blunt word. "Uh, well, because–"

          "Blair," said Kira in a patient tone, "I don't need to know any more than I do. I know that Chris is the enemy and that you're a friend. If you need help, I'm here. What more is there to talk about?" She started toward the door.

          "I owe you," Blair said, hurrying the words before she turned into the room.

          "You're welcome," Kira said over her shoulder. "And you don't." She swung into the room, leaving Blair standing stunned in the corridor.

          "But–"

          "Come on in, Blair!" called the committee chair from inside the room. "Let's get this show on the road!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim dumped a bag of carrots into the cart, carefully checking for the organic label, and shook his head at himself. Organic, of all things. But it was the only thing he could eat now – all the pesticides and hormones and other chemicals in so much food just turned his stomach. If it hadn't been for Blair insisting on introducing him to organic food, he might've just starved. Though he could do without some of his friend's wilder ideas – seaweed was absolutely out of the question, no matter what the anthropologist said.

          He glanced around for his partner, and spotted the wild hair two rows over. Heading toward him, he stopped after a few steps, wrinkling his nose at the burn smell. Something electrical, by the scent, and he looked up, noticing the repairman perched on the ladder a few feet from Blair, hidden behind a pillar. Jim moved so he could see his friend, but halted there. The smell was bad enough at this distance; any closer and he'd get a headache.

          He glanced up at the repairman again, then at his friend, who was sorting over tubers with an intense frown. The Sentinel smiled to himself, recognizing Blair's focus. Ever since he'd commented one night that he liked Sandburg's potatoes, Blair had been very careful in his choices of the same. Though how he could tell the difference between one tuber and another, Jim didn't pretend to understand. They all looked the same to him, even with Sentinel sight – no differences that made a difference, anyway.

          But that was Blair, and Jim wouldn't change him for any reason, though he certainly wouldn't tell him so. The food choices were just one example of the relationship they'd built, and he drew a deep breath, gratitude filling him. No one had ever shown the same kind of care for him that Blair did, and in moments out of time like this Jim just hoped it went both ways. But he could never ask.

          Blair shifted sideways as another customer's cart nudged him away from the onions in the next tray over, and dumped another two potatoes into the plastic bag he held. Turning, he saw Jim and grinned, starting towards him and holding up the bag with a triumphant gesture.

          Several elements of chaos came together in a single instant. The woman looking at the onions swung her cart around, striking Blair a glancing blow from behind. The police observer, intent on stepping carefully around the ladder, saw the moving missile out of the corner of his eye, but too late to successfully dodge it, and pinned as he was between the ladder and the next aisle of produce, had no room to do so anyway. Half-turned, he stumbled backward, over the power cord twining its way up the ladder, and the repairman standing on the top step made a wild grab as the power drill he'd been using was knocked over the strut he'd laid it on and fell in a swinging arc, gathering speed as it plunged toward the anthropologist.

          Blair fell backward as the cord under his feet was yanked upward, the drill plummeting toward him. He dropped the bag of potatoes, his hands automatically opening as he sought to catch himself. Hitting the floor hard, he felt rather than saw the aerial threat, and rolled sideways with frantic speed, coming up against Jim's feet with a thud.

          The drill swung past with a lazy grace that belied its deadly force, just missing the end of the next aisle of produce, swung back and smashed into the floor as the cord ran out to its farthest length.

          Jim started breathing again. Looking down at his partner, he held out a hand, heaving Blair to his feet when he accepted it. Once there, he rested a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling the increased body heat of the adrenaline surge. "You okay?"

          Blair nodded, his eyes wide and his breathing fast. Jim could hear his racing heartbeat, and patted him reassuringly as everyone converged on them, the babble and talk banishing their bubble of quiet.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Juggling the two shopping bags, Blair twisted to glance over his shoulder at Jim, pausing with one foot on the next step. "Sorry, Jim, what'd you say?"

          "I didn't say anything, Sandburg," Jim answered absently, his back to Blair as he hefted another grocery bag and turned, slamming the door to the truck with a lifted foot and frowning as he caught sight of Blair stalled on the steps. "Chief, I told you I'd get those–"

          "No problem, man," Blair said cheerfully, shrugging his backpack into a more comfortable position as he turned, and hiding his grimace as his bruises twanged.

          "Chief!" Jim barked, starting up the stairs. "I told you I'd take those!"

          "It's okay, Jim, really," Blair said, sighing silently at his overprotective mastiff of a friend. "They're both light," he added.

          Jim had been watching him like a hawk ever since the accident earlier, opening doors for him, checking the space around them, and in general, way overreacting in Blair's opinion. He knew that part of it was simply that the incident with the drill, on top of the situation with Chris, had driven the Sentinel into full alert mode. And, too, he knew that danger to himself roused every protective instinct of Jim's, and though that was often reassuring, not to mention humbling, this wasn't one of those times. Right now he really wanted – needed – to feel capable and in control of himself, and his reactions; to get back on track after that harrowing set of moments in the grocery store.

          Unfortunately, Jim's reaction to that event was the same as his own, but the officer's need for control meant control of Blair, and right now the anthropologist couldn't handle that lack of autonomy. He'd tried to explain that on the way home, but Jim had cut him off, curtly stating that he wasn't treading on Blair's space and to get over it.

          And that irritated Blair still more, even though he understood that reaction too – anger was often Jim's first response to any danger approaching Blair, and there was no one to be angry with this time. It had been an accident, nothing more, and the repairman had been so upset that even Jim couldn't blame him. And the grocery manager had given them their groceries for free, with a fifty-dollar gift certificate for next time, so Jim couldn't find fault with the store either. He really wanted to blame himself, Blair knew, but even Jim couldn't have changed what had happened and try as the Sentinel might, he couldn't think of a way he could've. He should have, but he couldn't have, but he should have, but he couldn't have… And on and on. Blair could almost hear the litany in his friend's head.

          And, knowing that, Blair understood that he himself was the only person there to vent the frustration on. The anger was a natural reaction to an adrenaline surge that the Sentinel couldn't channel into action, and Blair knew it.

          It didn't help. He was annoyed and frustrated, too, and in the aftermath of the accident, he was tired and emotionally stressed, and though he tried not to let it show, he couldn't help a brief comment. "You can't keep coddling me, you know," he added under his breath as he heard Jim mount the steps behind him, knowing perfectly well his partner heard him. "I'm really all right."

          "Sandburg–"

          Blair lifted his foot to the next stair, ignoring the explosive growl behind him, and shifted his weight forward. Dirt smudged the traction of his shoes, and he teetered for a moment, grinding his heel into the grit, caught his balance, then slipped. There was a moment of sharp, sudden fear that had a strange tinge of déjà vu to it, and then a strong hand caught him and Jim hoisted him up a step, his body firm and supporting behind the anthropologist. "I'll take that, Sandburg," he said, lifting one of the bags out of Blair's hands and pushing him forward to open the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair padded his way down the steps, one hand firmly on the rail, glancing down at the step he'd slipped on and shaking his head at the light film of dust covering it. Funny how so little dirt could make such a difference. But at least Jim had been there, and at least he was generous enough not to drive home the fact. Actually, he'd ignored it completely, though Blair caught his friend watching him when the Sentinel thought he wasn't looking. But at least he'd stopped the constant surveillance, and that allowed Blair to slowly relax, especially after another close call.

          He reached the bottom of the steps and stepped toward the truck, digging the keys out of his pocket as he stopped at the passenger side door, peering in to spot the stack of books he'd left on the floorboards and forgotten.

          A motor growled behind him and he turned just in time to see the white Trans Am aimed straight for him, the panicked face of the Asian teenage driver clear through the windshield. Above him, Blair heard the door to the loft open as Jim responded to the arrival of what was probably the Chinese delivery driver, but the shaman was already in motion even as he heard the bellow of his name, vaulting over the hood of the truck with an energy he could never have called upon during an ordinary day.

          The car swerved as the driver frantically yanked the wheel around, and the vehicle plunged into the four foot brick wall that ran between the loft and their southern neighbor, the crash reverberating through the neighborhood as the car slammed to a halt.

          Blair peered out from behind the truck, then stepped into the open just as Jim skidded around the corner of the vehicle. The Sentinel caught him by the shoulders, his grip hard but barely noticed by the observer. "Are you all right, Chief?"

          "Yeah," Blair said, taking a deep breath. "Yeah, Jim, I'm fine, really. He missed me."

          "Not by much," Jim growled, glancing over at the car, the teenager sitting frozen behind the wheel. "What the hell was he doing?" He loosed Blair after another reassuring survey, one that the anthropologist knew was enhanced by Sentinel senses, and strode toward the Trans Am, yanking the door open on the teenager, who immediately started babbling when he saw the officer.

          Blair took a deep breath and knelt to grab the keys he'd dropped in the dirt, then unlocked the truck to grab the stack of books sitting on the floor. Locking the truck, he walked over to sit on the steps, setting the books beside him and watching Jim grill the boy, joined by several neighbors who'd heard the crash. The anthropologist sat quietly, his silence lost in the ensuing hubbub, and no one noticed when he rose and climbed to the loft, thoughtfully closing the door behind himself.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          It was a good fifteen minutes later that Jim glanced around and noticed his partner's absence. He had time for a second of pure panic before the reassuring thud of Blair's heartbeat – familiar from almost three years of constant association, and numberless moments of crisis – registered in his ears, immediately traceable to the loft. He drew a deep breath, then curtly ended the encounter, dispersing the neighbors, sending the boy back to work with a severe warning and taking his by now very cold dinner and heading up the stairs.

          He stepped inside, immediately finding Blair in the cushioned chair opposite the French doors, and turned into the kitchen to deposit the Chinese food into the microwave and turn it on. Five minutes later he brought dinner into the living area and sat down on the couch siding Blair's chair. Handing one bowl and a set of chopsticks to his friend, he kept the other and dug in, hunger suddenly making itself known in his growling belly.

          "Eat up, Chief," he said as Blair showed no sign of wielding the chopsticks. "You've earned it."

          Blair's eyes, wide and blue and dark with thought, focused on the Sentinel and he set the bowl down on the low table between them. "Yeah, man," he said quietly. "I have."

          Jim lowered the bowl and looked at him, frowning. "Something wrong, Chief?"

          "Yeah," Blair said, looking at him. "You know, Jim, you've taught me a lot. And one of the things you've taught me is that accidents don't happen in threes. Not to the same person."

          Jim set the bowl down, his appetite suddenly gone. Blair's words roused the slumbering uneasiness that he'd managed to bury ever since his friend had slipped on the stairs. "Yeah," he said lowly.

          There was silence for a long moment, until Blair spoke, his words even. "I really thought the first one was an accident, you know? I mean, it was clear that no one really wanted to hurt me, and it could've happened to anyone, at any time–"

          "But it happened to you," Jim interrupted.

          Blair shrugged. "I thought I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then, this afternoon, I slipped on the stairs." He looked at Jim. "I've been up and down those stairs in every kind of weather, and I never slipped like that. I did some checking, and you know what I found?"

          He swept on without giving Jim the chance to reply, but the Sentinel found himself without words anyway, the dark sense of an answer gnawing at his gut. He turned away from it, sure it would have its say soon.

          "I looked at those stairs earlier, after the boy…" He shook his head, cutting off the uncertain ending. "Anyway. I looked and you know something, Jim? There's no more or less dirt on that particular step than there is on any of the others."

          "But you slipped–" Jim began.

          "Did I?" Blair asked darkly. "Or was I pushed?" He paused, then continued before the Sentinel could break in. "And then that car almost hit me. Jim, that kid was terrified. I could see his face before I jumped, and he didn't have any intention of doing what he did. He was panicked, driving scared, and I'd bet he was pumping the brake for all he was worth."

          Jim nodded stiffly. That fit the boy's stammered story all too well, and he swallowed. "You think Chris did something."

          Blair sighed, then nodded. "Yeah, I think he did. I think he either cursed me, or set something on me."

          Jim looked at him, a helpless sense of a world spinning out of control arcing through his guts. "Sandburg–"

          "I know how it sounds!" Blair snapped, rising to pace to the French doors and back. "But I don't know how else to account for it. Three times in one day, Jim? Not connected to police work? And every one potentially life-threatening? I don't buy it."

          Jim was silent, then said, "What are you going to do?"

          Blair paced back to the French doors and leaned against them, looking out across the city, now glimmering with lights. "I checked around here while you were outside, and something was here. I think I banished it, but I'm not sure."

          Jim frowned. "What do you mean? Either it's banished or it's not, there's no in-between." There was a piece of his soul that cringed at the conversation, clinging desperately to the practical, material world with which he was so familiar. He ruthlessly shoved it aside, his jaw clenched. The world was neither as practical, nor as material as it had once been, and there was no going back.

          Blair shifted his balance, straightening and shoving his hands into his pockets. "Things aren't that cut and dry, Jim."

          The officer fought the urge to snap, and managed to keep his tone even. "Explain."

          Blair didn't turn, just stood staring out the doors. "I destroyed it, yes, but I'm not sure whether his command won't manifest in another 'creature,' using another method. And if it does, then I have to banish that one, and so on."

          Jim inhaled, holding his temper in very tight. "So it's a rearguard action."

          Blair nodded, and Jim heard his soft sigh. "Reactive, not proactive." He turned to pace over to the couch, dropping onto it with a grimace. "I'm still very new at this shaman stuff, Jim."

          The frustrated anger in Jim's gut eased at the resignation in his friend's voice, and he reached over to touch his shoulder. "You're doing pretty well, Chief."

          Blair shook his head, the movement deliberate. "Not well enough. The only way to deal with this… creature is to deal with Chris, and– and, damn it, I just don't know how!" His control dissolved into frustrated impotence, and he clenched his fists in his lap.

          Jim frowned, fear tightening his gut. "What do you mean?"

          Blair climbed to his feet, starting to pace, nervous energy driving through him. "I mean," he said through his teeth, "that I can't take him on when he's injured unless he attacks me himself – which he won't – and until then he's free to hound me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim lay quietly in bed, listening to the small night sounds that were common to a city at two a.m. A cricket beside the steps to the loft chirped in a regular beat, while two blocks over a streetlamp buzzed. A sprinkler whizzed across a lawn on the next street. He broadened his range, focusing on people.

          This was a regular activity for him in the deep of the night, listening to the sounds of the city that was his to guard. Sometimes it had led him out of the loft, padding quietly down the streets to halt something better left undone, but for the most part he just listened. Two women in the house at the end of the block were making love, and he hastily turned his attention away, his ears tingling. Farther out, a single father sat by his daughter's bed, holding her hand and soothing her back to sleep from nightmares. Jim smiled and focused further. A TV droned, set on the Sci-fi Channel, and the Sentinel blinked at what he could catch of the storyline, then shrugged to himself. Was it any more fantastic than what had happened, was happening, to himself and Blair?

          And that question brought him back to the loft, the attention shift so fast that it was almost dizzying. Blair's heartbeat was steady and slow, and Jim took a breath, grounding himself off the regular sound.

          Blair. That was what the whole situation they found themselves in revolved around. Blair, and his ethics.

          Honor. That was the word Blair had used when explaining his position, and now Jim turned the word over in his mind. Honor was a concept so outdated as to be archaic, almost ridiculous. Blair felt honor-bound not to take Chris out when he was down, which from a cop's point of view sounded downright silly and completely dangerous. And so Jim had started to argue, but he'd been stopped cold by Blair's quiet reply.

          "And what kind of person would I be, Jim, good grief, what kind of shaman would I be, if I stabbed someone in the back when there was danger to me?"

          Jim had opened his mouth, then closed it. He just couldn't see Blair doing that, and that very inability to visualize the act said volumes about not just his own conception of Blair but his understanding of himself, too.

          "Law is meant to provide rules of honor that people accept without examination," Blair had said, slipping into academic mode, which for once didn't bother Jim. "You're a cop; you accept those rules, and work by them. But in something like this, the only rules that work are those implicit in the human psyche." He saw the Sentinel's impatient frown and sighed. "Look, in this kind of thing, you have to go by the rules that worked for other civilizations who did shamanistic stuff. Now I could quote you this tribe and that tribe and so on, but what it really boils down to is a simple question: Can you live with yourself after you do something?"

          "The important thing here is to live, period, Chief," Jim said gently. "Shouldn't survival be our first priority?"

          Blair shook his head, the movement precise, deliberate. "No. Working with the metaphysical means you have two choices: you can get your energy by harming someone and drawing on them that way, as Chris does–"

          "Or Natalie," offered Jim in a low voice.

          "Yes, her, too. Or you can work in harmony with the universe, and with yourself, building energy through positive, life-affirming connections." Blair stopped pacing and turned to face him, a grin quirking one corner of his mouth. "God, I sound like a really bad case of neo-hippyism, and I know that turns you off."

          Jim looked up at him. In all the depths of his soul he found no reason to smile, and no urge to laugh at his friend. They were talking survival here, and he had to understand the rules. "No. Go on."

          Blair shrugged, looking at him. "That's really all there is to it, Jim. The only thing I can use to guide me in this is whether or not I could bear to look myself in the mirror tomorrow morning if I took Chris out through a sneak attack tonight." He took a breath, his gaze steady on Jim. "And I couldn't."

          Jim closed his eyes, then opened them, staring past Blair through the French doors. "And if you did?"

          Blair shrugged. "Then I take the first step down the road that Chris is on, and eventually I look just like him."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Now, lying in bed and hearing a clock several streets over strike three a.m., Jim sighed. Everything in him screamed to take Chris down now, tonight, when he was vulnerable. But this battle wasn't fought by those rules, and here, if he and Blair fought by them, they might win the day, but they'd lose the road. And neither Blair nor Jim could afford that. After all, Blair still had the amulet that could stop Jim if he ever chose the wrong road. If a shaman made the wrong decision somewhere along the way and didn't pull back, did that mean that his Sentinel would eventually have to defend their city against him?

          Jim rolled over, away from the question, and determinedly set himself to go back to sleep. He and Blair would get through this, the right way, and Blair would never take a step down that road, anyway.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stepped into the police garage, absentmindedly closing the door behind himself and heading toward Jim's truck. It had been easier to relax at the precinct than anywhere else except home, and he had managed to loosen up enough to act normal. After all, who would hurt him here, except by accident? And with Jim watching him as alertly as he was, accidents just didn't happen. Even in the garage Blair felt safe, especially since he knew Jim had been right behind him, delayed only fractionally by a brief chat with Simon.

          He yawned as he neared the truck, digging in his pocket for the keys Jim had thrown him as he'd left. "Just go down and sit in the truck, Chief," the Sentinel had told him sternly. "I'll be right there."

 _No problem_ , Blair thought, yawning again. _Snooze a little, relax. Yeah, that sounds good. And hey, the truck is shielded_.

          And if he'd managed to reach it, that might've been enough.

          They came out of nowhere, and though Blair had always found that phrase clichéd, this time he literally didn't know that they were there until he found himself shoved up against a wall.

          "Hey, man, what–?"

          The blow that caught him across the face cut the words short, and his head bounced off the wall. He blinked as the world hazed out and then stared as he recognized the man holding him.

          "Andre?" he said incredulously. "Andre Kacinsky?" He glanced at the second man. "Shawn? What're you guys doing? Why–?"

          Shawn stepped around his partner's stance with the ease of long practice and drove a fist into Blair's gut, then hit him again.

          Blair wheezed as the air exited his lungs in one contraction, hardly noticing when Andre dropped him to the floor. His legs buckled, but Shawn caught him again with an uppercut, momentarily staying his slide down the wall.

          Andre's foot caught him in the groin, and the anthropologist jerked into a fetal position as he fell to the floor, caught between the agonizing pain in his crotch and the driving need to fill his lungs again.

          Another foot caught him in the ribs, aborting the half-breath he'd managed to gain, and Blair's convulsive reaction re-energized the waves of pain from his crotch. He saw a fuzzy image of the iron pole hefted above him, no doubt taken from the ongoing construction in the garage, but his need to breathe took precedence, and he couldn't move, frozen as severe cramps radiated through his body.

 

 

          Kane Johnson stepped out of his car and slammed the door, heading toward the garage door leading to the building, then glanced around as he heard a stifled gasp. His eyes widened, and he bolted forward, grabbing the iron pole as it reached its zenith in the other cop's grasp. They swayed for a long moment until Kane managed to wrench the bar away. He threw it over his shoulder and stepped in front of Shawn as he started to kick Blair again, straight-arming the officer before he could finish the move.

          "What the hell–?" he started to say, bewilderment rushing through him. Why would a cop, any cop, attack the police observer? Granted, some of them felt he shouldn't be out there with Ellison – and he'd once felt that way himself – but even at his worst he would never have considered going after the anthropologist physically. Fear crawled through him as he took in the men's blank stares and set expressions, and he swallowed as they closed in on him, moving as the coordinated team that they were.

          Andre swung and he ducked, still unable to bring himself to retaliate against men who were, in ordinary life, fellow cops and his superiors to boot.

          "Blair!" The bellow echoed around the garage, and the sound distracted Shawn enough that his fist didn't slam into Kane's gut as he intended. The younger officer twisted lithely aside and the blow missed, Shawn reeling as the unchecked force threw him off-balance.

          The next moment Jim was beside Kane, his fury driving the punch that sent Andre to the floor. Kane dropped Shawn with a clean right cross and drew a deep breath, staring down at Blair in horror.

          The young man lay curled around his pain, his hands automatically cupping himself. His eyes were squinched shut and he writhed as the cramps echoed through his body again. His wheezing was harsh and straining, and Kane winced in sympathy as the anthropologist struggled to catch his breath, caught between two equally driving forces and unable to completely win either one.

          "What happened?" he said softly, his concern overcoming his automatic reticence with the older officer.

          "That was what I was going to ask you." Jim didn't look up at him as he gently pulled Blair into his arms, uncurling him enough to get him off the floor.

          Kane swallowed. "I– I don't know. It doesn't make sense! I walked around the corner, and they were – beating him up." He paused, glancing back at Andre and Shawn, who were both still out for the count. "Why?" His voice held all the confused appeal one would expect from a young officer only months out of Academy.

          "They never did like Sandburg," Jim muttered, leaning back against the wall, Blair resting against his chest. The anthropologist still looked pretty bad, but it was clear that the cramps, at least, were easing, though Kane thought that the breathing still sounded as ragged as before.

          "But– But so what?! This is insane! They had no right–"

          "They… thought… they… did." Blair's words were low and forced, but Kane saw Jim smile, the expression gone the next moment.

          "They did, huh?" he growled. He glanced up at Kane. "Go call this in; request an ambulance."

          "No–"

          "No arguments, Chief." The voice was gentle but inexorable, and Kane swallowed at its tone as he headed toward his car. _Maybe one day I'll have a partner like that…_

          He returned moments later to find the two in the same position, though Blair seemed more relaxed and his breathing was finally easing. Kane halted a few feet away, uncertain whether he should stay or leave them alone.

          Jim solved the problem for him, glancing up as he neared and nodding to the two officers, who were beginning to stir. "Cuff them. And be careful about it."

          Kane nodded and cautiously cuffed the two to each other, ankle to wrist, secretly pleased at Jim's nod of approval. Sirens sounded close by, and he glanced up as an ambulance slid into the garage, its siren overwhelmingly loud in the enclosed space. The young officer fought the urge to put his hands over his ears and saw Jim scowl, pulling back from the sound even as it died.

          "Easy," whispered Blair, his eyes opening at the move, and Jim's mouth quirked a little.

          "No problem, Chief."

          "Jim! What the hell happened?" Simon strode around the ambulance, his arrival heralding a crowd of cops who circled out from behind him, soon filling the building with busy talk as they milled around, confused by the picture before them. Some spread out to search through the cars, assuming an attack by instigators unknown.

          Simon halted to watch as the paramedics surrounded Blair, inspecting him briefly, then lifting him out of Jim's grasp and depositing him on a stretcher that they quickly placed inside the emergency vehicle.

          When Jim would've followed him, one of them shook his head and waved him off. "Sorry, Officer, but there's no room; you'll have to follow us."

          Jim looked like he was about to argue, but Simon stepped up beside him and took his arm. "Go ahead," he said brusquely to the paramedic, and then spoke to Jim. "I'll take you to the hospital, Jim. You damn well owe me an explanation of this first. And them." He nodded to the bound officers, who were looking around bewilderedly and testing their cuffs with unbelieving expressions.

          The Sentinel watched the paramedics slam the door, then sighed and turned to face his friend as the ambulance pulled out, the siren beginning to wail again as it exited the parking lot. "I don't know all of it, Simon. Johnson here saw more of it."

          Kane took a breath as the captain approached, nervous tension stretching taut across his shoulders. He told his story briefly, rewarded at the end by Simon's confused frown, the expression echoing his own feelings exactly.

          "Are you sure about this, Kane?" Simon asked brusquely when he finished. "Maybe you were just overreacting and–"

          "I was there, too, Simon." Jim's voice was solid and firm, and Kane relaxed fractionally. "I know what I saw. Kane probably saved Blair's life," he nodded at Drew and Andre, "and he's not exaggerating their behavior."

          Simon transferred the frown to him. "But why–?"

          "Look, can this wait?" Jim shifted restlessly. "We can talk about it on the way, but I really want to get going."

          Simon sighed, then nodded. "All right. But you'd better have some answers for me that make sense, Jim." He turned away from the two of them, his brisk orders setting other officers to aiding Shawn and Andre to their feet and pushing them toward the station and the cells that waited there.

          Left alone, Jim turned to Kane, the younger officer shifting under the flint-like gaze. "I just wanted to say thanks," Jim said quietly. "Like I told Simon, you saved Blair's life today. All debts are paid." And with that he turned to join Simon at his truck, reluctantly handing over the keys as Simon held out his hand with a no-nonsense expression and turning to climb in the passenger side instead.

          Kane watched the truck exit the parking lot and took a deep breath. _All debts are paid_. He would never forget what he'd done to incur that debt[1], or what he'd learned from his mistake, but at least now he had a chance to build something with the two of them that he'd never had before. He followed the other officers into the station, smiling. _All debts are paid…_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Simon watched Jim out of the corner of his eye, waiting, but his friend simply stared through the windshield with the abstracted look that the captain had begun to equate with Sandburg. Something lay between the two of them that had not been there before… Natalie, and it made Simon uneasy. Whatever it was, damn it, it was not natural, and unnatural things made him nervous.

          He shook his head at himself. As if Sentinels were "natural"?

          "Well, actually, Simon…" he could hear Sandburg start to explain, and forcibly ejected the image out of his head. There was no way he was going to listen to the kid when he wasn't even there. It was bad enough when he _was_ there.

          "Okay, Jim, start talking," he said briskly, more to block the incipient conversation in his head than because he really wanted to hear the situation. It was probably weird, whatever it was, and he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with something weird. Once had been enough.

          Jim blinked at him. "Sir?"

          Simon's eyes narrowed. Jim didn't play innocent all that well. "The story, Ellison. I want the story."

          Jim shrugged. "You wouldn't believe me."

          "Probably not," agreed Simon. "Tell me anyway."

          Jim sighed. "I really don't think that's such a good idea. Sir. You can't help us this time, so–"

          "Ellison, I've got two officers in my jail cells on charges of assault on a police observer! I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now!"

          The Sentinel grimaced, wincing a little at the volume, and Simon immediately dropped his voice. "Now, Jim." He swung into the hospital parking lot and turned down an aisle, his gaze on an empty place at the end. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me all of it." He caught Jim's grimace as he pulled into the space and shook his head. "No excuses, Ellison." He shut off the car and set the brake, removing the keys and handing them to Jim. "We can talk about it on our way over."

          Jim hesitated, then shook his head. "Right here, Simon. Or nowhere."

          The captain blinked at him, surprised by his friend's refusal to rush over to find Sandburg. Though at that, he was probably listening to his friend's heartbeat and breathing right now. "What's wrong with telling me while we walk over to the Emergency room?"

          "You won't like the answer."

          Simon closed his eyes. "Let me guess. Because the truck is shielded–"

          "–and the hospital isn't."

          "God _damn_ it, Jim!"

          Simon opened his eyes in time to see Jim shrug. "That's the way it is, sir. Take it or leave it."

          The captain took a long breath, then sighed it out. "All right. I'll take it. Now, talk to me."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair yawned, then wriggled deeper into the bed and blissfully relaxed into the twilit room. The absence of pain was still a marvelous thing, and not having to worry about breathing was nice, too. He heard a step outside his door and cracked an eyelid, but it was only a nurse glancing in on him. She smiled at him and walked on, and he closed his eyes again.

          Jim was due back sometime soon; he'd urged the man to get supper from the hospital cafeteria, pointing out that he needed to eat too. Jim ignored him, but Simon had turned up about an hour later and forcibly escorted him out, sternly reminding the Sentinel that they'd gotten this into a schedule when Blair was in a coma and though Jim might've forgotten, Simon hadn't. Blair had watched them go with a bemused smile, a secret warmth in his stomach that he and Jim had such friends.

          He figured that his partner had brought Simon up to speed on what was happening, since he'd seen that look in the captain's eyes once before, just after Natalie, and besides, he didn't think that Simon would have set it up so that Jim could stay with him in the hospital without knowing what was going on. Police business, the captain had called it, giving the hospital an official reason for the officer's presence in Blair's room.

          He heard the soft footsteps again, but this time it took a long, sleepy moment before he realized that they'd entered his room. He opened his eyes and peered upward, blinking at the nurse as she reached for the IV bag, a syringe ready in her hand.

          "Painkiller," she said cheerfully as he looked up at her, and it took a moment for the comment to make sense. When it did, he was suddenly, totally awake.

          "Wait a minute," he said, halting her move with a hand. "I have a painkiller right here." He tapped the self-mod button clipped to his sheet as she turned to face him, then trailed off as the familiar features registered. "Sarah?"

          She smiled at him, a harsh smile that he didn't remember, and reached up to plunge the syringe into the IV. He caught her arm just before she completed the move, and for a moment there was only the fierce struggle, eerily silent as she fought to reach the IV bag and he to halt her.

          "What did I ever do to you?" he gasped as the syringe inched closer to the bag. Twinges of pain echoed through his body as he strained to hold the needle at bay, and her smile grew.

          "Why, nothing, Blair boy," she purred, her voice dropping into a deeper register. "Though there was that night you stood me up, remember?"

          Adrenaline rushed through Blair at the too-familiar nickname, and he lunged to a sitting position. Jerking her arm down, he forced the syringe out of her hand and threw it against the wall. It bounced, ricocheting into the small bathroom and out of sight. Sarah let out a wordless roar and was on him, forcing him down on the bed with a strength that was not her own.

          Caught by surprise, Blair went down before the onslaught, ripples of pain washing through him as the struggle re-ignited unhealed bruises and battered ribs.

          Yanking the sheet up from where it had fallen across his knees, she twisted the top curve against his throat, pinning him to the bed. He flailed against the bedclothes, unable to gain any leverage against the soft mattress and rumpled fabric, and fought back panic as her grip constricted his windpipe, cutting off his air and narrowing his world. He bucked against her weight, grabbing a breath as her hands slipped a little, and smiled, sensing success. Bringing up his hands, he seized the edge of the sheet, pulling hard against her.

          Loosing a hand, she slapped him, hard.

          He jerked backward, and the momentary break in concentration allowed her to grab a butter knife off his dinner tray and press it against his throat. The increased pressure was enough, together with the increasing pain of his battered body, to break the adrenaline rush, and his hard-won surge of energy abruptly fell apart, sucking him into a dark summer night with flashing stars.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair stretched sleepily, turning over to snuggle into the blankets again. A hand on his arm stopped his movement, and he reacted instantly, striking out with a fist as danger zinged through him.

          "Ow! Hey, Chief, take it easy!"

          Blair blinked at his partner, a dim shape in the darkness, finding himself sitting in the middle of the bed, fists clenched. It was still deep night out the window, and the room was dark. He took a deep breath, trying to throttle the urge to start swinging, and forcibly relaxed his hands, one finger at a time.

          "You've got quite a punch there, Chief," Jim said, his voice slightly nasal. "Remind me not to get you mad at me."

          Blair could dimly see the hand raised to his partner's face and grimaced, faint embarrassment rising in him. "What– What happened?" He reached over and fumbled for the lamp, blinking as light flooded the room.

          Jim turned away, closing his eyes quickly, then slowly faced him, squinting slightly. Blair sighed. "Sorry. What happened?"

          His friend's expression shifted to what Blair privately termed his "cop face". "What do you remember?"

          Memory seeped in around the edges, then swept over the dam. Blair closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillow, which Jim obligingly cranked up for him. Despair muddied the waters, slowly icing to determination, and the anthropologist sighed. "Chris."

          "Can you be a bit clearer on the specifics?" Jim asked, a tinge of sarcasm to his voice. "The man is in another wing of this hospital, and no visitors are allowed in to see you. But I caught a nurse trying to strangle you and doing a damn good job of it. Now since you haven't been here long enough to break any dates, I'm assuming Mr. Charisma's behind it, but I'd like a few more details."

          Blair opened one eye to look at him. Jim must be really worried about him to talk this much. In spite of the assumed pose of impatience that the officer wore, Blair could see the strain and worry telling on him, and he shook his head in frustration.

          "You can't?" Jim's voice was a few notes higher, and Blair opened both eyes to stare at him, caught by the edge of anger.

          "No, no, no, man," he said hurriedly. "That's not what I meant, I just, well, you know, it's kind of hard to describe."

          "Suppose you try real hard."

          Blair lifted a shoulder, dropped it. "Hey, thanks, Jim. For rescuing her, I mean," he said at the narrow look he got. "But you can let Sarah go; she's no more to blame than Andre and Shawn were the other day, and I bet–"

          "I wasn't rescuing her."

          "Actually, man," Blair said thoughtfully, "you were. At least as much as me. I mean, hey, she might not have liked me much after I broke that dinner date, but she wasn't the type to try murder to get even."

          Jim closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. Why did these conversations always give him a headache? "You broke a dinner date with a woman you hadn't even met yet? Sandburg, even for you, that's pushing it."

          Blair grimaced. "No, Jim. I met her months ago, back in January when you had that hip injury. You know, when that car bomb went off under your seat and they had to remove–"

          "Yeah, yeah," Jim said hurriedly, "I remember. Was she a nurse here then?"

          "Uh-huh. Anyway, I kinda got caught up in that Quinlan kidnapping, you know? That was the night– Well, anyway. I was two hours late for dinner that night, and that didn't go over real well. Especially since she'd set it up real special, got a friend to take over her shift, that kind of thing. And she'd–"

          "Chief!"

          Blair stopped mid-sentence, blinking up at Jim in surprise. "There's no need to yell, Jim. You know, if you keep that up, one of the nurses will–"

          "Sandburg, if you don't start talking, I swear…" Jim took a turn around the room, practicing the deep breathing that Blair had taught him. "What did Chris do?" he asked when he felt he had himself under control.

          Blair was silent, not looking at Jim as he picked at the blanket. The energy hum around him, usually so vibrant, was suddenly still, and the Sentinel realized that the earlier patter had been just that, a practiced gambit used to distract his partner and avoid the subject. "Chief?" he said softly, sitting down in the chair next to the bed.

          "When am I getting out of here?"

          Jim studied him for a long moment, then answered quietly, "They want to keep you overnight for observation. Tomorrow you go home."

          Blair nodded, still not looking at him. "Good."

          "Chief? Talk to me. What did–?"

          "Possession."

          Caught off-guard by the flat answer, Jim blinked at him for a moment, then opened his mouth.

          "Mini-possession, actually," Blair added, still in the same level tone. He lifted his gaze to meet the Sentinel's, and Jim shifted uneasily at the clinical appraisal there. "He's moved on from sending some metaphysical creature to hound me with accidents. Now he's picking people who have some negative feelings toward me, strengthening that emotion to the point of murderous rage, and sending them after me. But he has to stay with them to hold them to the act, and I wouldn't be surprised if his victims don't even remember their actions afterward. Do they?"

          Remembering the bewildered innocence he'd seen in the nurse and both police officers, Jim couldn't help but shake his head. "Why do you call it mini-possession?" he asked, trying to match his partner's objective attitude.

          Blair tilted his head, pursing his lips. "Because he's not interested in the soul, just in 'borrowing' the body for a while, so to speak. My use of the term could be argued, but to me, full possession always had to do with manipulating the soul, not just the body." He drew a breath, not wincing as the movement lifted his bruised ribs. "It's time to end this."

          "How?" Jim asked, alerted by the tone.

          "I'm going after Chris."

          "Alone?"

          Blair opened his mouth, then paused, finally saying, "Not if you want in."

          Jim leaned back and studied him, unsure why Blair's decision disturbed him. It was exactly what he himself wanted to do, what he'd advised the anthropologist to do, so why were his internal alarms going off?

_If a shaman makes the wrong decision somewhere along the way and doesn't pull back, does his Sentinel eventually have to defend their city against him?_

          Jim shivered slightly as his thoughts of the previous night returned to him. "Sandburg, are you sure?"

          "Yes."

          The flat tone hadn't changed, and Jim took a breath. _Careful, be careful_. "Why?"

          Blair looked at him, the set of his jaw worrying the Sentinel. "Why what?"

          "Why are you going after him now?" Jim asked, trying to identify the icy look in his partner's eyes. "He's still in the hospital; in fact, I've heard that his condition has been fluctuating, and he's slipping in and out of a coma. Seems these attacks are taking it out of him pretty badly. Isn't going after him now stabbing him when he's down? Things haven't changed."

          "Yes, they have." Blair's eyes glinted, and Jim suddenly recognized the emotion.

          Anger.

          It was a reaction so rare in his friend that the Sentinel was startled silent. He'd seen the anthropologist frustrated, scared, determined, reckless, horrified. He'd watched Blair when he was running high on adrenaline, his actions completely spontaneous and spur of the moment, and he'd seen him turn in an instant to an absolute concentration, all his wild energy focused like a laser. Anger was rare in Blair's emotional repertoire, and as far as he could remember, he'd never seen the younger man this furious. "How've they changed?"

          "It's one thing when they're after me," Blair said, his voice no longer quite as flat. "But now they're going after innocent civilians who have no stake in this and no say. And I won't stand for that. I can't."

          What had begun as a level statement started to climb as the anthropologist's passion began to show, and recognition sparked in Jim. The way to reach Blair was through emotion – the flat objectivity he'd been showing left no crack for Jim to use. _That's right, Chief, show me how you feel about this_. As well, he had a momentary flash of humor at Blair's concern about civilians. There had been a time, not so very long ago, when the younger man had been a civilian himself. Obviously he didn't consider himself one now.

          Considering Blair as a non-civilian dried up all the humor in Jim, and he met the anthropologist's eyes without a smile, realizing that he could never protect Blair on the shaman front ever again. Not that he ever had. But he wished he could.

          "Those innocent civilians are okay, Chief," he said cautiously. "If you don't press charges, they'll be released with no record. So think–"

          "Don't you see?" The objectivity was gone, and Blair looked at him fiercely. "I can't let him do this, Jim. He won't stop until he's got me, so I might as well go after him instead. That way no one else gets caught in the middle. If I don't, who's he going to go after next, huh? Who? Simon, maybe? Some other cop who doesn't like me? Some nurse who thinks I resemble her boyfriend who abused her? Some orderly who–"

          "Chief!" Jim took a breath. Well, he'd wanted emotion, and now he had it. Run with it. "You told me yourself that if you went after him when he's down, you'll take the first step down the road Chris is on. You'll end up being just like him, and he'll have won after all, even if you take him out this time." He plowed through Blair's attempt to break in. "That means you'll be betraying every one of the man's victims, as well as yourself. And me."

          It was the last part that finished Blair, as Jim had known it would.

          Blair's gaze dropped, his shoulders sagging. "Damn it," he whispered.

          Jim took a deep, slow breath, relief filling him. "Besides, Chief," he said, trying to give his partner a break in the tension, "what makes you think he wants you alive? In all these attacks he's been trying to kill you."

          The simple truth of the statement brought back the horror of the moment when he'd felt Blair's struggle, down in the cafeteria with Simon. His race through the hospital had felt like it took forever, every hallway looking like every other, a never-ending maze in which Blair was lost and dying, and Jim dying with him. He had felt Blair pass out when Jim himself had reached the top of the stairs, bursting through the stairwell door with a force that nearly knocked it off its hinges. He didn't remember the last corridor – all his heart and soul was with Sandburg, feeling his last, faint struggle for breath, feeling the heartbeat slow, tripping.

          He crashed into the room, flinging the nurse away from Blair in one giant heave, and bending over his friend. The world had stopped, frozen in the silence. It was silent. No heartbeat greeted his straining ears, no draw and fall of breath in lungs he knew as he knew his own, nothing.

          Jim hadn't even wasted time in words, just threw back the sheet in panicked haste and started CPR. It was only moments before he heard the first stumbled heartbeat, then another, and he halted his actions as it steadied, Blair's breathing catching up. When he looked up, Simon was cuffing the just-stirring nurse and after a piercing glance at him, ushered her out the door, leaving him with Blair.

          Now Jim blinked, shaking out of the memories with an effort. Blair was alive. And he was going to stay that way, if Jim had to kill Chris himself to secure it.

          Blair was staring at him, an expression that Jim could only describe as awe on his face. "What?" he demanded.

          Blair looked down, and Jim saw him swallow. "Nothing," he said softly.

          "What, Sandburg?"

          Blair swallowed again, then looked up, meeting Jim's eyes. "Thanks."

          The Sentinel turned away, stalking to the window. "For what?" he asked gruffly. "Yanking you back from going after Chris until the right time? You told me that's what Sentinels do for the shaman, so–"

          "For my life. I saw it," Blair said hurriedly as Jim turned to fix a gimlet eye on him. "Well, saw, felt, whatever. But what you did, Jim… Thanks. I didn't realize it was that close."

          Jim felt the blood climb his cheeks and turned back to the window. "Just doing my job."

          He felt Blair smile behind him. "Yeah," his partner said softly. "I know.

          "But you're right about Chris." The shaman's tone was thoughtful, and Jim turned from the window, his embarrassment fading. "He's almost killed me several times, but I don't think he knows that."

          "Doesn't know–? How the hell could he not know that, Chief? He tries to kill you and almost succeeds, and he doesn't know?" Jim stalked across the room and sat down in the chair, staring at his partner.

          Blair pulled his knees up and rested his chin on them. "I don't think he's trying to kill me, Jim."

          Jim snorted. "Well, for someone who's not trying he's sure succeeding real well! Come on, Sandburg, that doesn't make sense!"

          Blair looked at him thoughtfully. "I don't think that Chris realizes his control slips. I mean, I think that he intends to attack me at the moment of crisis, right when I slip over the edge into unconsciousness or when I'm distracted. But he gets caught up in the rage of his victim and never sees me 'slip,' and you know, Jim, I bet that rage is pretty hard to control. I bet his victims slide out of his grasp, and he never even knows it."

          He paused, realization striking him. "And besides, come to think of it, I'd also bet that he has to provide some sort of fantasy for his victims to enact, because even under control I don't think he could force them to kill me if they had any idea that's what they were really doing. Even in fantasy, that'd be pretty hard for them to stomach, and I don't believe that Chris' control is that powerful or that complete." He saw Jim's dubious look and shook his head.

          "Hey, man, these are people sworn to the service of others. I mean, two are police officers, one's a nurse, you just can't get much more service-oriented than that! Murdering someone in cold blood, even someone they have minor negative feelings toward, that's not just unlikely, Jim, that's plain impossible without help, a lot of it. And that help would have to include a fantasy for them, one in which they're doing something they find acceptable even while their body is performing murder."

          Jim shook his head, as much to stem the flow of words as to disagree. "I don't know, Chief. It just seems so…"

          "Strange? Bizarre? Weird?"

          Jim rolled his eyes. "Something like that. Murder gets committed by a lot of people for a lot of reasons, Chief, sometimes for such small things that they don't seem rational to us. How would someone even build such a fantasy in the first place? And what's to keep Chris from building these peoples' feelings to murder on their own, where they're killing you and they know it?" Though he had to admit that the bewilderment of the officers and the nurse had seemed very real.

          Blair shook his head. "You said yourself they didn't seem to remember what they did. I don't think Chris could afford to trust them to follow through without some reason he'd supplied. Not to mention that he's into control, and I don't think he'd be willing to let go once he had them. And he's not strong enough to induce murderous passion on his own anyway, without the powers he had before. What he has now he'll hoard to use in binding me. And as for building such a fantasy – Jim, haven't you ever wanted to strangle me?"

          The Sentinel blinked at him, caught between answers. "No!" he finally said vehemently.

          "Not for real, I know," Blair said, grinning. "But come on, Jim, you haven't ever wanted me to, oh, I don't know, stop pestering you for tests, or hang up my jacket, or stop spreading my books around the loft, or turn down my music, or put my backpack in my room, or–"

          "All right, all right!"

          "Or stop talking so much?" Blair finished softly.

          Jim looked at him, his brows bent. "Could he use me against you?"

          "No." Blair wasn't smiling now, his focus on the Sentinel complete. "No, Jim. We know each other too well for that, and we know our own fantasies about each other too well for that."

          He saw Jim's frown and smiled faintly. "Look, Jim, in every relationship there's things about the other person that are annoying, frustrating, sometimes maddening. It's only natural to daydream about dealing with those annoyances, whether verbally or physically. But in most relationships, the partners work them out without the annoyances creating murderous rages. There's things I do that frustrate you, and there's things you do that frustrate me. That's natural. But we offset those frustrations with other things, and that negotiation is something that Chris can't work past. Neither of us could be used against each other by someone like Chris."

          Jim rose, pacing over to the window and staring out at the jeweled cityscape. "Natalie used me against you."

          He felt Blair's headshake. "That's different. Natalie inflicted pain on each of us and used that against the other. Chris hasn't her strength or skill, and that's another reason he can't just force people to do his bidding without using things like fantasies to work through. Even Natalie had to have a crutch, remember? You told me you'd walk around in a daze, some part of you buried. And she drugged me. Even she couldn't force us to betray each other without help of some sort."

          Jim mulled that over before turning back to face his partner, trying not to let the icy feel of the woman's name drive him away from the memories. "Okay," he said slowly. "Let's say I buy this. Chris finds someone around you with a grudge, someone who has no real relationship with you, and induces a fantasy for them where they're hurting you in some way."

          "And at the same time," Blair said steadily, "he's raising their emotions to fever pitch, sealing them into the fantasy and borrowing their body to try murdering me. Or, actually," he added, "he thinks they're just trying to hurt me, not kill me."

          Jim frowned. "That sounds like he's not real sane, either. If he can't tell they're trying to kill you, that says he's not as good at control as he thinks. Especially if he can't tell when you're vulnerable to attack."

          "That's true," said Blair. "I mean, I knew he was obsessed with me, but maybe what he's really obsessed with isn't me per se, but the act of control, the fantasy itself."

          Jim looked at him, seeing the anthropologist surface with all his fascination with people. He sighed. "Run that by me again, Sandburg."

          "I mean," said Blair, bouncing slightly in bed, "maybe what he gets off on isn't really me, but what he thinks he's doing to me. Or maybe what he plans to do to me. Yeah," he said, nodding, "yeah, that sounds right."

          He saw Jim's glare and held up both hands. "Okay, hey, look. Chris wants to bind me so he can have more power, right?"

          He didn't wait for Jim's nod, but pounded on, his voice intense. "And he failed with me the first time. I held my own against him, and then I wouldn't let him have Dane."

          "You defeated him," Jim said softly. "That probably hurt."

          Blair nodded. "Yeah, man, I think it did. Really hurt. But once I was out of the picture, after he left, he could go after Dane and get him. Now, I'm no psychiatrist, but I wonder if that didn't make him feel as if he'd beaten me."

          "And your defense of yourself was just an accident."

          "Uh huh, yeah," said Blair, his eyes wide and blue in the lamplight. "And see, if he could convince himself that the only reason I'd beaten him was chance, just a lucky break, and that once he came back he'd squash me like a bug, then when he did come back, he wouldn't even see me. Not really, anyway."

          Jim nodded. It made a kind of bizarre sense, put that way, and explained a lot of Chris' actions so far. "Then when you held him off, freed Dane, and fought off his attacks every time, that must've been quite a shock."

          "Oh, that was all chance," Blair said breezily. "You know, just a lucky break on my part. I'd guess he's really stuck on that. And besides, I had someone standing at my back, giving me power. He knows that, so winning against him wasn't up to me."

          Jim blinked at him. "But it was. I just gave you support; you did all the work."

          Blair shook his head. "Not to Chris. Remember what he said about friendship making me vulnerable? He can't conceive of a true partnership, of sharing that way. It has to be his way or the highway, and so any support I have must be someone else's power driving me, 'cause he's already established that I don't have any power of my own. I mean, hey, he already defeated me, remember? So all he has to do is take me down physically and then attack when I'm vulnerable, before I have time to call for help, and he's got me. No problem!"

          Jim shook his head, trying to clear it. "Chief, that's insane!"

          Blair looked up at him, suddenly still. "Jim, I never said Chris was sane." He looked away, his face shadowed. "He always did have to be in control, on top. It was his one flaw as an anthropologist and a researcher – he couldn't seem to listen to someone else's point of view and let it go. He always had to have the last word, and he was good enough at what he did that he could usually carry his point." He bit his lip. "It was probably a good thing that we never had classes together."

          Jim looked at him steadily. "He doesn't sound like much of a friend either."

          "No," Blair said softly, "he wasn't. But it wasn't nearly so bad in the beginning, and hey, we didn't talk about things that made him uncomfortable. I mean, friends don't, you know? He must've gotten much worse after he left, especially after binding Dane." He shifted, looking up at Jim with a sudden smile. "And besides, I didn't know what a true partnership could be like back then."

          Jim felt his ears tingle and hastily looked away. "So what do we do about Chris?"

          Blair sobered. "We get ready. Soon he'll come after us."

          "You mean he'll come after you, right?"

          "No. Both of us."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair blinked, then shook his head. He was dreaming… he was awake… he was asleep… he was… dreaming! He caught hold of the fabric of the dream, holding on with all his awareness, and took a breath, then forced it out, feeling his lungs strain.

          The dream fabric was off, holed in all the wrong places, as if someone other than he looked through it, held it, read it.

          Chris stood a few paces away, frowning thoughtfully at him, though Blair had the feeling that the sorcerer couldn't truly see him. Glancing over his shoulder, the shaman could see Jim, seated against a shadowy tree. Asleep though he was, the Sentinel was frowning, clearly aware of something wrong.

          Blair shifted slightly, grim anger rising in him. Chris had adjusted the anthropologist's dream space so it stood adjacent to the public sphere, making it both visible to some degree and malleable to a skilled outsider. But this was Blair's space, and he'd be damned if he let Chris use it to his own ends. If the man wanted to examine him and Jim, and the bonds they had to each other, he was going to have to work for it.

          Sucking the breath back in, Blair focused. He could smell the sweet scent of the cottonwoods that rustled above him. They were light, fresh green – it was spring.

          The ground shifted under his feet, lifting itself into a small hill. The grass was the emerald green that only lasted a few days after a late spring snow, and it waved thick and lush over the damp earth, cool under his bare feet.

          Chris frowned.

          Somewhere off to Blair's left, water gurgled. A small creek, busy in its bed, strong with snowmelt. No. Not so small, not anymore.

          Blair turned his head, catching a glimpse of sunlight sparkling off the falls as the stream circled one side of the hill. Deliberately he looked the other direction, forcing the creation of another channel and grimacing at its drag.

          Behind him, out of sight but not out of reach, the creek abruptly split, and water rushed through a formerly dry bed, curving to match the other stream in its strength and beauty. Two channels now curled around the hill, circling it on three sides.

          Blair frowned down at the two streams bubbling down the hill, forcing them closer, closer, closer until they merged into one, completing their circuit of the hill.

          Real, real! He was dreaming, and he was awake… and the circle was whole and complete, and all within it was his.

          Chris stumbled backward, his mouth falling open and his eyes wide. He shook his head and kept shaking it. The landscape around Blair ended at the water's edge, and Chris stood in a gray version of his hospital room.

          The shaman smiled grimly and turned, looking around with a searching gaze. Three paces in back of him Jim stirred, and Blair knelt by him, shaking him lightly.

          Jim gasped, then sat up, wide awake, reaching for a gun.

          Blair grinned and caught his hand before he completed the move. "Sorry, Jim. That's no good here."

          Jim caught his breath and looked around. "What? Where are we?"

          Blair's smile faded. "Dreaming."

          The Sentinel frowned. "And?"

          "Chris set us up."

          Jim climbed to his feet and stood, braced against the slope, Blair rising with him. "How?"

          Blair stepped aside and gestured. On his side of the stream Chris had backed himself into a wall and now sat on the ground, hugging his knees. He was frowning, and his gaze, though not quite focused directly on them, was beginning to sharpen. His features were still loose with shock.

          "He didn't expect me to wake up," Blair said matter-of-factly at Jim's questioning glance.

          The Sentinel studied Chris, then looked back at the shaman, a small smile curving his lips. "He didn't, huh? Bet that was a shock."

          Blair nodded, unsmiling. "Yeah, it was. But once he gets over it he'll attack."

          "Can he see us?" asked Jim, pacing down the hill to stare at the sorcerer on the other side.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Not really," Blair answered, stopping beside him at the edge of the stream. "Sense more than see. He knows I'm awake and aware, and that you are. He knows that I reacted by building the circle, and that you and I are bonded. No more."

          Jim grunted. "That's quite a bit, Chief. How does he know about the bond?"

          Blair shrugged. "On the dream plane such things are much easier to see. It's a function of–"

          Jim held up his hand, halting the budding enthusiasm mid-stream. "Never mind, Chief. I don't really want to know how it works, just that it does. Can he tell how the bond works, what we can do, anything like that?"

          Blair frowned. "I'm not really sure, Jim. I think he can only tell that we are, but not the depth or strength of it, nothing like that. Just the fact."

          "And he knows it's me?"

          Blair grimaced. "Yeah, I'm afraid so. Sorry, man. I woke up too late to prevent that."

          Jim shrugged. "He would've figured it out sooner or later." He studied Chris thoughtfully, noting the shock in the man's eyes. "That must've been some shock; he's slow coming out of it."

          Blair shook his head. "Dream time differs according to where you are. On his side it's probably just a few seconds since I woke up, and everything over here seems to be happening really fast. I slowed down our time, though, to give us more."

          Jim glanced at him, his respect growing. Blair might say that he was 'new to this shaman stuff,' but as far as Jim was concerned he seemed to be doing just fine.

          Blair flushed slightly, looking away, and Jim suddenly remembered that in dream space they seemed to share thoughts and feelings much easier. He buried a smile; it wasn't often he managed to embarrass his partner. "What do you want to do now?"

          His flush fading, Blair studied the man on the other side of the water, his eyes unreadable. "I think it's time to return the favor."

          Jim looked at him out of the corner of his eyes. "You mean–?"

          "I mean that it's time we showed him what a Sentinel and a shaman can do."

          Jim turned to stare at him. "Blair–"

          "Look, man," said the shaman, not removing his gaze from his erstwhile friend, who was starting to struggle to his feet, "this is my dream space. What you and I have is ours. Neither one is any business of his. He's coming after us on my ground, invading my territory. It's time to show him that we have teeth, too."

          "Your teeth," Jim said softly. When the comment won him no response, he nodded and went on. "Your call, Chief. Let's do it."

          Blair didn't even glance at him, just held out a hand, his gaze still steady on the now-standing Chris.

          Jim swallowed at the gesture, glancing back at Chris. Blair had said the man couldn't see them, and the Sentinel believed him. But even knowing that, taking Blair's hand in front of the man broke all the rules he'd ever learned about what men didn't do. He swallowed again, grinding his teeth. Damn it, this was Blair! What did it matter what the son-of-a-bitch on the other side of the stream thought about them? The gesture was just so damn intimate, though!

          "Hey, man," Blair said, an underlying tone of gentleness to his voice, though he didn't turn to look at his friend. "Intimacy is another word for trust. So trust me already!"

          Jim swallowed down his surge of chagrin at being caught, gritted his teeth and took Blair's hand without a word, staring defiantly at Chris, who didn't react at all, just stood staring at them with narrowed eyes, his gaze focused a little to the side. Jim relaxed, realizing that the anthropologist really was right; the sorcerer couldn't see them. What that said about his own abilities to share his feelings he didn't know, but he'd think about it later.

          "Ready?" Blair asked steadily, and Jim realized that there was a connection between them, like a taut cord that the shaman held.

          Jim nodded, taking a breath and bracing himself.

          Something shifted, and abruptly he was watching Blair and Chris square off against each other in what was obviously a martial arts match. They stood in a white space, wall-less and endless, but nonetheless real, and Jim blinked. He still held Blair's hand, but his friend wasn't standing beside him, even though the Sentinel could feel his presence. "What the hell–?"

 _Jim, hey, Jim! It's all in your mind. You see it one way, I see it another. Go with it, man_.

          Jim took a breath, swallowing hard. He'd heard Blair in his head, but he had a feeling that the words had actually been spoken. Weird didn't begin to describe this. He studied the two fighters, frowning.

          Blair was dressed in a white gi that for all it seemingly matched the outer surroundings, was actually very clear to see. And Chris, facing him, was draped in black, his arms crossed and a sneer fixed on his features. "You can't win, you know," he said tauntingly.

          Blair didn't reply, simply setting himself into a ready stance and waiting.

 _But the Chief doesn't know martial arts_ , Jim thought, then shook his head. All in his head. Go with it.

          Chris danced forward, and what followed was a rapid exchange of blows, attack and reply, forward and backward, and Jim clenched his fists, fighting the urge to wade in and help. This was Blair's fight. And besides, he realized, this might be his personal representation of the fight, but it was particularly one-sided in its portrayal of reality. He was helping Blair – if he paid attention, he could feel the cord between them, drawing his energy into Blair's attack, and he concentrated on easing that passage, opening the channel even further.

          On his own chessboard, it seemed to him that the fight had been going on for a long time, but Blair's movements were still balanced, every blow precise and at full power. Chris, on the other hand, seemed to be tiring, his blows faltering, and Jim smiled, sensing victory.

          Chris slipped, falling to one knee, then winced as he ducked a kick. "Please, Blair," he whimpered, cringing away from the shaman. "Please, enough!"

          Real time exploded around Jim, and he blinked in the sunlight. He and Blair stood on one side of the stream, and on the other Chris knelt, his shoulders sagging and his gaze focused on Blair. "Please," he whispered.

          Blair's expression didn't shift, and Jim glanced sideways at him, wondering what his friend would do. He found himself neutral on the subject, though if this were a fight in the real world…

          Blair raised his free hand, then brought it down again in one quick slash. Jim felt the corresponding whiplash of energy, and saw a brief picture of his friend, spinning in a perfect jumping crescent kick that sent Chris to the ground, unconscious. He blinked, finding that the last part was true. The sorcerer lay unmoving on the other side of the stream, and Blair loosed Jim, gesturing open-handed at the sorcerer.

          There was a dizzying swirl of color, and then there was only the hill and the grass and the stream, with rolling hills and forests on either side of it. Jim blinked, then turned to look at Blair, who was eyeing him.

          "So, Jim, you ready to go back to sleep?"

          Jim shook his head. "Not yet. First tell me why you knocked him out."

          "When he was begging me for mercy, you mean?" Blair said wryly. He glanced over the landscape, then back to the Sentinel. "He wasn't hurt, Jim, just beaten. But I think I understand Chris pretty well by now, and if I'd backed off at what he'd said, he'd have known that I'd listen to that kind of vulnerability. And in the fight to come, we can't afford for him to think that. He's got to think of me as tough and hard, not afraid to hit him when he's down, not afraid to win. Does– Does that make sense?"

          Jim looked at him, hearing the faint edge of uncertainty under the voice, and realized that Blair wasn't as sure as he sounded. He took Blair's face between his hands for a brief moment and grinned. "Yeah, Chief, I think it was the right decision. You're saying he needed to respect you, and you're right. But what do you mean, the 'fight to come?' You think–?"

          Blair sighed, abruptly looking as tired as Jim knew he must be. "I think," he said slowly, "that he'll be back, in force and with everything he has, sometime soon. This was just an exploratory foray, one he didn't expect to get caught in. Next time…" He ran a hand through his hair and looked back at Jim. "I'm ready to go back to sleep. How about you?"

          Jim rested a hand on his shoulder. "Me, too, Chief. And good work," he added as Blair raised a hand to him and sleep swept him out on its broad tide.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Late afternoon sun slanted in the loft windows as Jim entered, hefting a small grocery bag. Setting it on the kitchen counter, he glanced around the very quiet apartment, frowning at his partner's absence. Or at least his visible absence; Blair's heartbeat was strong and steady in his ears.

          The Sentinel tracked the sound to his friend's room, hesitating at the almost-closed door. But it was ajar, so he pushed it open a few more inches and peered in.

          Blair sat in meditation stance on the floor, his eyes closed and breathing slow. He showed no reaction to Jim's entrance, and the officer blinked at him. He'd expected a somewhat hyper Blair when he got home, readying himself for whatever was coming. Meditation wasn't on the docket – too quiet.

          But, watching Blair, Jim slowly realized that he was working. How he knew that he couldn't say, but it was true. He'd never tried to reach for the link between them, uncertain and wary of it. Using that, exploring that, was something he'd left to Blair, feeling that it was more the shaman's right than his. But now, feeling his friend's intense focus on… something, he tentatively reached for the bond, admitting his own curiosity about both the link and his partner.

          Blair stood on a roof of a building, hammering down some loose tiles. Jim found himself standing on the edge of the roof and blinked, bemused. Somehow this wasn't what he'd been thinking of when he'd imagined Blair working. He'd thought of something more, well, esoteric.

          Blair turned to glance at him, holding the hammer loosely in one hand. "Esoteric? You're picking up my vocabulary, man. Anyway, like I told you before, what you see is your representation of what I'm doing. It's really fascinating, I mean, I've never actually seen an example of relativistic thinking, but that's what's happening here. It's a great–"

          "Sandburg," Jim growled. Some things didn't change on any plane of reality. "What're you doing?"

          Blair waved a hand around. "Just thought I'd fix up a few things, you know, batten down the hatches, that kind of thing."

          Jim frowned at him, then, glancing down, realized that they stood on top of the loft. That meant… "You're fixing up the shields, aren't you?"

          Blair nodded, gaze steady on him.

          Jim glanced around, marveling at the details his mind could produce. He could see the outline of every tile on his roof, every brick of his neighbor's, and on the other side stood the condominium that sided the loft in real life. Even the shadows fell right for the time of the day, and the only way he could tell he wasn't actually standing on the roof of the loft in the physical world was the way the city faded out after a few hundred feet, vanishing into a fuzzy mirage. That and the fact that he couldn't imagine Blair standing on the roof in the first place.

          "You got that right, man," Blair muttered, going back to his hammering. "But then, like I said, your vision, not mine."

          Jim watched him nail down another loose tile with solid, competent strokes, and suddenly wondered what this looked like to Blair. If this were the Sentinel's version of what was going on in the link at the moment, what was the shaman's?

          Blair glanced up at him, his lips quirking, then bent again to his work, and the world shifted around Jim. He caught his breath in a startled jerk. He stood in the middle of the loft, Blair stretched in a recliner, his gaze focused on the shield that surrounded the building. Jim glanced around and drew a deep breath of wonder. The shield was luminous, clear to see. Intricately woven, it resembled a giant, silver mesh that glowed with a pearly light.

          _Like a web_ , Jim thought, but without the horror of a giant spider weaving it. This net had all the beauty of a web found in the early morning sunlight, and radiated reassurance and safety. As he looked, he could see (sense?) the lines strengthening, loose ends melding into others, the entire web tightening into a closer, stronger weave. Outside it he could see another web, and another outside that. Three in all, but staggered one above the other, so no space matched. It would be damn near impossible, he realized, for an enemy to slip through all three without getting caught.

          "Not bad," he whispered, then blinked as the loft wavered around him, reforming as the roof and the city, Blair fitting another tile in place and raising the hammer. Jim shook his head and started toward the door leading down to the loft, then jerked to a halt as the scene shifted yet again, and he found himself standing in the doorway to Blair's room, staring at his friend. He took a few deep breaths, then quietly backed out of the room and into the loft, closing the bedroom door behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim stood off to one side, watching Chris as he lifted the scissors, poising the open blades above the blue cord that bound the two dolls together. Chris looked up at him, a bitter, vicious smile curving his lips. "You understand, don't you?"

          Jim looked at him, finding no words in himself to answer the question.

          Chris looked back at the two dolls, edging the scissors' blades closer to the yarn. "What you did to me and mine, I can do to you and yours." He lifted his head, his gaze intense. "Do you know what Blair was to me?"

          Jim shrugged, then when Chris looked at him expectantly, he answered reluctantly, "A friend."

          "He was more than a friend!" Chris snapped, sudden fury in the words. "He was a brother, a colleague, a protégé. He would've been a partner to me like no other!"

          The hand that held the scissors shook, and Jim stood ultra-still, fear tingling his body in a cold sweat. On this plane, that cord stood for something that he and Blair had built with their sweat and fear and despair, something they were only just beginning to understand and use, and though their faith in and friendship with each other wouldn't die with it, there was no guarantee that they'd ever be able to rebuild what they had lost, either. "But you didn't want a partner," he said, striving for an even tone.

          Chris' smile widened. "I wanted Blair. I'll have him. But you're the key to Blair's heart and soul. Taking you will destroy him, and then he'll be mine!" He cut the cord.

          The noise was horrendous, and Jim clapped his hands over his ears, feeling as if he were caught between two enormous drums. The vibrations shook through him, leaving snatches of pain in their wake, and he tried desperately to turn down his hearing, focusing on the dial with all his concentration.

          Flashes of neon light strobed across the dark sky, and he closed his eyes as the images burned across his retina, leaving streaks that seared across his inner sky. Even through closed lids the light hurt, and he dropped his head, trying to shield his eyes without uncovering his ears.

          Fetid smells swept over him, sewage, skunk, intense perfume. He fought not to gag, trying to breathe through his mouth, but that just made the tastes obvious, and that was worse.

          The last straw was the water that suddenly seemed to be flowing across every square inch of his skin. He didn't feel wet, but try as he might he couldn't escape the sensation. Once his senses had emerged, it had taken a lot of work before he could stand to take a shower; the intense stimulation had been more than he could handle for a long time. On top of all the other sensory assaults, the tactile sensation ground all his efforts at control into so much dust, eroding away any hope he had of defeating Chris' attack.

          He reached for Blair, recoiling as the empty desolation that had been their link rolled over him. Horror, despair, and fear surged through his soul, and he knew that he was losing the battle. He was zoning out, and this time there would be no Blair to pull him out of it.

          "All right! I'm here."

          With Blair's words the sensory barrage started to die, and Jim opened his eyes a slit, surprised to find himself on his knees.

          Blair stood several feet away from Jim, facing Chris. His face was set in lines that the Sentinel had never seen before, and he drew a shaking breath, blinking his eyes open a bit more and loosening the fingers clasped over his ears.

          "…A simple invitation would've done," Blair was saying. "There was no need for this." He gestured at Jim without looking at him, his gaze steady on Chris.

          Chris smirked. "He's mine now, Blair boy."

          Blair shook his head, the movement allaying some of the horror that shook through Jim at the claim. "No, he's not."

          "Wanta bet?" Chris taunted. "I've had more experience at owning someone than you ever have, Blair boy. I know exactly how to go about it. I tell you he's mine now."

          "And I've had more experience at being pursued than you ever have, Chris," Blair said easily. "You're not the first to try this on me, or on us."

          Memories of Natalie flitted through Jim's mind, together with an image of Blair on an altar, claiming selfhood and power.[1] He lowered his hands to his knees, taking a breath. The smells were gone, and so was the feeling of water on his skin. The sky had lightened behind Blair, and he could scent the dawn on the cool breeze. The drums were gone as well, and only the occasional tiny peep from a waking bird echoed around him. _Wherever Blair goes, he brings morning with him_ , Jim thought, then blinked as he saw the wolf pad silently across the hill behind Chris, halting to stand on the crest and gaze down at the man.

          "You think so?" Chris said softly, smiling.

          Blair looked at him. "I think you've never tried owning a Sentinel before."

          Jim heard the whisper of paws in back of him, and the black panther paused beside him, then drifted off like a wisp of early morning fog. But not far, Jim knew. He took a breath, adrenaline making his body tingle, his senses turning up an extra notch. He was ready.

          A shadow of uncertainty crossed Chris' face, and he flung out a hand toward Jim. "Come to me, Ellison!"

          Jim fell forward on his hands, disgust and horror merging into swift determination as he felt the tug to obey. He dug his fingers into the loam, dirt forcing itself under his fingernails, and tried to merge himself into the earth. Even in the intensity of the struggle he realized one thing; the bond Chris had woven with him was only physical. The only obedience that could be exacted of him was one of the body. Chris might order him to do something, and he might obey, but his mind and soul were his own. And that, he knew somehow, wasn't what Chris had intended or expected.

          But the command was real, nonetheless, and though Jim fought it with all his strength, he found himself slowly crawling toward Chris, whose grin of triumph grew with every foot Jim covered. Forced to submit to the power that bound him, the Sentinel set himself to understanding it, testing its strength, flexing its limits. He knew instinctively that in order to break the power the sorcerer held over him he had to understand it, and so even while he fought it he struggled to see the patterns in it. It was like understanding how a criminal thought, and as a cop, or a Sentinel, he couldn't find someone, or stop them, until he understood how their mind worked. This was no different, and he was a damn good detective before he was anything else. And the best way to understand something was to be a part of it.

          As he neared the sorcerer, he glanced across at Blair, noting that his friend's expression hadn't shifted at all, and Jim found himself wondering what the shaman had been expecting. The anthropologist's eyes were shuttered, his features set. Without their link, there was no way to tell what Blair was thinking, and a stab of loss echoed through Jim. He turned away from the feeling quickly; the last thing he needed was a distraction right now. They'd deal with the link later.

          "Stand up, Ellison!" Chris ordered as Jim closed the distance between them.

          Jim stood slowly, his knees aching, his fingers grimed with dirt. He was far closer to breaching the limits of the man's power than the sorcerer thought, and he knew it. Just a little more work…

          Chris held a gun out to Jim, who looked at him evenly. "Take it!" the younger man ordered, a touch of surprise in his eyes that Jim hadn't obeyed the implicit order.

          Jim opened his hand, and Chris laid the gun in it. "And hold it," the sorcerer commanded when the Sentinel made no effort to close his fingers around the weapon.

          Jim obeyed, flexing his fingers when Chris turned to look at Blair, and knowing the shaman saw the move.

          "See, Blair?" Chris gloated, smiling. "He's mine now. Your bond is gone, and so too is what you had. Surrender to me!"

          A smile flickered across Blair's face. "What we had is still ours, Chris, and always will be. Our bond was only a manifestation of that, not the cause. And no, man, I won't surrender to you. Why should I?"

          Chris wheeled on Jim, his face white with rage. "Kill him!" he shouted. "No, no," he interrupted himself before the detective could even process the order. "No, first, I want you to hate him, Ellison. Hate Blair!"

          Jim looked at him coolly, not even glancing at Blair. The command was words, nothing more, and he smiled faintly. "Forget it, Jackson."

          Chris' jaw dropped. "What? What do you mean? I told you, I ordered you to hate him!"

          "And I said forget it."

          Chris pointed a shaking finger at him. "Then– Then kill him! Shoot him! Now."

          Jim gritted his teeth, working around the parameters of the command even as his hand rose, the gun hanging loosely from his fingers. It was like mapping a house of mirrors, where the goal was to break all the mirrors that held the illusionary command and leave all others intact. He narrowed his eyes, focusing inward with such concentration that he didn't notice when he flexed his fingers, bringing the gun into line with Blair's body and firming his grip on its butt.

          One more corner, break those two, and that one… No! Not that one, the next one over… around the bend, duck the overhang… and out!

          Jim stepped forward, turning to stand beside Blair, and brought the gun to bear on Chris, who stared at him, white-faced.

          Blair's low chuckle broke the silence. "I told you that you'd never tried to own a Sentinel before, Chris. It's not as easy as you thought, is it?"

          "But– But–" Chris stuttered, his gaze never leaving Jim. "But I said the words, did the ritual. You were mine!"

          "Not any more," growled Jim, anger mounting in him now that the experience was over. "Where do you get off anyway, thinking you're God?"

          "I am God!" Chris shouted, raising his arms high and turning to face away from them. "And I will prove it! Come to me!"

          The words he shouted next were indecipherable, and Jim glanced at Blair, whose lips were a thin line. "Stay together!" he shouted, the words barely audible over the rising howl of the wind, even to Jim. He held out a hand, and Jim took it without a qualm, watching the rising darkness in the south with a frown. "And don't let go!"

          Chris turned to face them, his arms still upflung. The smile on his face seemed faintly demonic, and the growing chorus of unearthly wailing approaching only accented it. Behind him, a giant figure suddenly stood against the sky, wings spread wide and the beaked head cocked, one glowing red eye fixed on the Sentinel and shaman.

          There was an enormous _crack_ , and both Jim and Blair leaped backward, hands still clasped, as the ground between them and Chris suddenly gaped open, the crack running in both directions at lightning speed. Red light flickered in its depths, and Jim tried to convince himself that he really hadn't heard a long low growl echoing from down deep. He did _not_ want to look into that pit, and he urged Blair backward another few steps. The shaman didn't seem unwilling to comply.

          Between the wind blowing in the darkness from the south and the inky vapor surging upward from the pit, the dawn lightening the east was sinking into gloom, the early morning stars vanishing as well. Behind them Jim heard faint wing-beats as the lone bird, waking before, now fled at top speed. Under that exit, there was silence, and Jim knew that he and Blair were losing the battle before it even really began. But how could human beings fight _these?_ He shivered as the being behind Chris landed, its folded wings standing taller than the sorcerer. Somewhere in the depths of the earth he heard the growl again, loud enough that even Blair turned his head, and the two of them exchanged grim looks.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blair hunched his shoulders against the stinging sand that the wind whipped into his face and tried not to cringe at the call of the bird figure, which sounded like nails on a chalkboard. He caught a glimpse of Jim, hands over his ears as he knelt next to Blair. The cry must be excruciating to the Sentinel, but there was nothing Blair could do to help him; just surviving was all he could manage right now.

          The bird figure was soaring now, but Blair kept his gaze on Chris, who stood on the other side of the chasm, arms akimbo as he stared at the two of them, his eyes reflecting some of the glare from the pit until they glowed red. Or at least Blair hoped it was a reflection.

          Good grief, what power! It had flattened them to the ground with its sheer weight early on, and Blair wasn't even certain how to raise his own powers, much less fight what Chris had. All his own preparations gone for nothing – by calling Jim Chris had forced them to fight on his own ground, outside the boundaries of the shields that Blair had spent so much time strengthening. Obviously that had been the sorcerer's purpose from the beginning. _Some shaman_ , he thought, frustrated regret gnawing at him. _Can't even protect a friend; I should've known Chris might call him; it was an obvious possibility_.

          But it was too late now.

          He swallowed, shame burning through him. He had badly underestimated the sorcerer, and now he and Jim were both paying the price. Bad enough that he himself would die here, but Jim… For Jim to die because Blair had made a mistake, because he'd trusted his shaman… that hurt worse than anything Chris could do to him.

          He wasn't aware of the aerial strike until the talons caught him, shearing his shirt in two as easily as a razor blade would cut through silk, and slicing into the skin beneath with equal ease. It was over almost before the pain hit, pieces of shirt sliding off his back, only held by the still-intact sleeves. The edges were red.

          Agony raced up his spine, fiery pain flaring from neck to sacrum, and he pitched forward, his scream strangled by the sand he fell on. Jim was over him instantly, and Blair could feel his friend's fury, the drive to protect the anthropologist almost a physical pain. But without the link such sharing was all in his mind. He heard the wolf howl, the sound echoing through him.

          Blackness swept in, creeping closer until it pooled at his feet. If it took him he knew he would never wake up. And neither would Jim.

          The bird figure cried again, victory in its tone, and Blair closed his eyes, aware of Jim's panic, held at bay through the iron discipline of many years' experience, of the ever-widening rift only a few feet from them, with a scratching noise that sounded suspiciously like claws climbing over rocks, of Chris' grin, growing as the blood spilled over Blair's shoulders, trickled down his sides. It was warm.

          The blackness was creeping up his body, leaving a cold emptiness in its wake. When it reached his heart…

          "Jim," he slurred, noticing absently that the wind wasn't blowing so hard, and the grainy feel of sand against his skin had stopped.

          "Chief."

          Blair could hear how hard Jim was working to keep his tone even, and he swallowed, a distant ache in his throat. "'m sorry, Jim."

          "Don't say that, Chief! Don't ever say that. I'm not sorry. And I never will be. Not even if–" Jim had to stop as his voice wavered, his words outrunning his control. Blair heard his ragged breathing, and then Jim said softly, "Even if all of this – of us – had just been in my mind, it'd be worth it."

          Blair stopped breathing, the phrase echoing in his mind. "What did you say?"

          He felt Jim's frown, shaky but there. "I said don't be sorry, Chief… Don't ever–"

          "No. Not that." Blair stopped to breathe, feeling the blood cooling as it soaked into the rags of the shirt that he lay on. "In your mind?"

          Blair heard Jim swallow. "If– If all of this was just a dream, just something I thought up when I was going mad with my senses in the beginning, it would be worth it." He swallowed again. "Even if–"

          "A dream?" Blair whispered, white heat starting to pool in his belly. "In your mind? In _our_ minds?"

          "Yeah, Chief," Jim said, bewildered annoyance starting to creep into his tone. "I just–"

          "Damn it!" Blair shouted, lifting his head as the white flush of anger surged through him, lifting him to his elbows. "You son-of-a-bitch!"

          He lurched to his feet, his gaze fixed on Chris, unaware of the shocked hurt on Jim's face, which quickly flushed into worry at Blair's movement. "Goddamn you!" Blair swore viciously. "And I bought it!"

          He whirled and grabbed Jim's hands, yanking him forward a pace, ignoring the confused protest. "Close your eyes!"

          "But–"

          "Jim, this isn't real! None of it's real!"

          Jim's eyes widened, then narrowed as he glanced at Chris, who was staring at them, his smile gone and a ridge of worry between his eyes. "Damn it!" the Sentinel growled, then closed his eyes.

          "Think of the loft, see it as clearly as if you're there, 'cause that's where we are!"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim peeked warily at the world, then opened his eyes with a smile. They stood in the middle of the loft, he in the boxer shorts he'd worn to bed, Blair in tank top and shorts, hands clasped. But they only had time to exchange victorious grins before the house shook, a muted roar reverberating through the walls.

          The gleam in Blair's eyes faded to an intense focus. "It's not over, man," he said, his gaze already abstracted. "This is the real battle, and it's not over by a long shot!"

          The walls shook again, and Jim drew in a long breath. They might not have won the battle, but they were in vastly better shape than they had been. For a few moments there he'd really thought Blair was dying, and that was an experience he didn't want to repeat again any time soon.

          But how much of what had happened had been real and how much illusion? Or had all of it been illusion? The wolf and the panther had been real, he was sure of that, but the rest? Had it all been a lie?

          He gave his head a fractional shake, impatient. Now was not the time to wonder that; they'd talk about it after this was over. But now they had to take care of Chris once and for all.

          He watched Blair frown, his eyes absent, and wondered what he was seeing, or doing. Without the link Jim wouldn't be much support–

          Wait a minute. Had the destruction of the link been real? Or a lie?

          He reached for the bond, opening his mind to Blair and hoping…

          Warmth flooded through him, and he heard the panther's contented purr at his feet. The wolf howled, and Blair glanced up, his gaze suddenly intent on the Sentinel. A smile curved his lips. "Welcome back, Jim."

          The bond hummed between them, and Jim realized that he stood in the shaman's version of the loft, the shields pulsating faintly around the building. He took a deep breath, relaxing into the link and smiling at his friend. "Same to you, Chief."

          Blair nodded. "And now," he said softly, his gaze going abstract again, "for something completely different…"

          The wind, which had been rising, suddenly gusted, whining around the house with such strength that Jim could literally feel the structure shake. The temperature inside the loft plummeted, and their breaths suddenly smoked, goosepimples breaking out across their skins. There was a faint acrid scent that made Jim wrinkle his nose, but he ignored it, feeling Blair reaching for something.

          Suddenly Kira stood with them, dressed in shorts and a T-shirt. She blinked, startled, then took in the two of them, her lips quirking. Jim felt the blood mount to his cheeks, knew Blair flushed as well.

          "Chris?" Kira asked, her smile dying.

          "I took you up on your offer," Blair explained, his voice even. "So I really hope you meant it."

          She nodded thoughtfully, cocking her head as an eerie, nerve-racking wail sounded outside. "Sounds like you could use it."

          "Yes," Blair said shortly, then glanced at Jim, who was staring uneasily out the French doors. "Not everything over there was illusion, Jim."

          "I was afraid you were going to say that."

          Blair looked back at Kira. "I'm sorry to roust you out of bed, but–"

          Kira snorted. "It's only eleven, Blair. And I offered my help if you needed it. Let's get on with it."

          A smile flickered across the anthropologist's face. "There's one more I want to call–"

          The house shuddered at a giant blow, and the three of them staggered. Jim wet lips suddenly dry, abruptly sure that the denizen from the depths had finished climbing out of the pit. "Get to it, Chief," he said curtly, loosing one of Blair's hands to steady Kira as she stumbled at another blow.

          Blair closed his eyes and reached, then opened his eyes and nodded as Kane stood beside them.

          "Him?" Jim said, turning startled eyes on his partner. "Why'd you call him? Why not Elliott?"

          Blair shrugged. "Kane's been touched by this, just as Kira has. And besides," he smiled at the young cop, who was trying to watch everything around him with wide eyes, "it's his turn. Dane's had to deal with Chris long enough; he'd come if I asked, but he doesn't deserve that."

          Jim shrugged. "If you say so, Chief." He glanced at Kane, who stood crouched and ready for attack. "Welcome aboard, Johnson."

          "What– What's going on? Sir?"

          One of the loft windows shattered, the crash making them all jump. Glass shards glistened in the light, and as they all looked up, another window frosted over, cracks racing crazily over its surface, hazing it until it too exploded, everybody ducking as glass rained down, though none of it came close to them.

          Blair reached out, catching one of Kane's hands in his and forcing the young officer to focus on him. "We need your help," he explained tersely. "Can I count on you?"

          Lightning raced across the sky, cutting it in half, and the crack of thunder was deafening. Everyone winced.

          Kane took a deep breath, then settled his shoulders. "Yes," he said quietly. "What can I do?"

          "Backup," Blair said, not glancing at Jim. "Support. Kira has done something like this once before, but this time Chris has allies."

          "And they aren't friendly," muttered Jim, blinking as he stared out the French doors. He could've sworn he'd seen a bird-headed figure soaring past the patio…

          "So what're we waiting for?" Kira asked impatiently. "Let's go get him!"

          Blair's smile was brief but real. "Link up, you guys," he said, motioning to their free hands. Once clasped, Kane and Kira's handclasp completed the circle, and Blair nodded. "Jim, you're the guardian who shields us all; your element is earth. Kira is fire, Kane water. We'll sort out who does what as we go. For now, don't let go, and trust me."

          Kane and Kira nodded, and Jim took a firmer grip on the hands he held, saw the others do the same. Looking around, he realized that, as in a dream, he could see both outside and inside the loft at the same time. Chris and his two allies stood a short distance away from the structure, the bird-figure hovering above the sorcerer, and Jim drew a deep breath.

          He was guardian, responsible for everyone's safety and protection as they met Chris' attack. The shields set around the loft provided that as well, but he knew that their group itself must become a weapon of sorts, each of them bringing something different to it. It was an experience of teamwork and cooperation that would be completely alien to Chris, and in that lay part of its strength. But Jim knew that he was the one responsible for the outer structure of their gestalt, the boundaries that made it real and able to act in a semi-physical manner on this plane. Thus, on Jim's ability to build such a structure would rest their success or failure in this battle.

          And he knew the material he wanted to use to create it, too. Crystal. It was earth, but it lived, grew, changed. So too would the shield he built.

          And as he thought it, so it was, pulsing around them, shifting, growing, changing, but strong and steady. He saw Blair nod, and felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Now all he had to do was to hold it. Looking over at Chris and his allies, he knew that wouldn't be easy to do.

          "Okay," Blair said, "now–"

          He wasn't given a chance to complete the instruction, as the bird-figure wailed and dove toward them. Jim felt Blair's hand jerk fractionally in his own and knew that the memory of the agony inflicted by those talons had fired through him. Real or not, it had left its mark.

          But Blair was quick to overcome the distraction. "Together!" he shouted, and Jim felt the tug of the link. What the others felt he didn't know, but it must've been similar, because when the bird-figure hit the outer shield of the loft it met with a blast of sheer silver power geysering out from the group. The bird-figure met it head-on and jerked to a halt, letting out a sharp, whistling cry as the silver bomb swept over it like water, silver flames dancing over its wings. Backwinging frantically, it dropped out of the sky, landing at Chris's feet with a wail. He stared down in shock as it twisted and writhed, the silver fire consuming it in waves.

          "Attack them!" he commanded the pit creature, backing away from the bird-figure as it shivered into gray ash.

          Jim got his first good look at the pit creature as it rumbled toward them and swallowed, keeping his supper down with an effort. It was a scaly creature, distinctly rock-like in appearance, all sharp edges and granite. Flames played on its skin, and Jim had to force back a sense of horrified déjà vu as he suddenly recognized it. Childhood nightmares abruptly blossomed into reality, and he fought to keep from shaking. The creature looked up at him with soft brown eyes and grinned.

          Blair's hand tightened on his, and Jim ground his teeth together. Damn it, that had been then, this was now, and he wouldn't let this– this creature from hell distract him!

          The silver geyser leaped out as the creature shambled closer, and Jim bit back a denial, the foreknowledge of failure leaping through him. The rock-creature halted as the silver light washed over him, seeming to smile as it engulfed him and then vanished into the scaly skin. When he stepped forward again, the flames dancing across its skin were stronger and clearer, and Kira swore.

          "Regroup!" Blair said hurriedly, and the four of them shifted as everyone found their place again.

          The next few moments were a wordless sharing of thoughts within the gestalt, then, as the creature paced nearer, they came to a decision, altering the geyser before it sprang out again, silver waves racing over the scaly-skinned monster.

          Chris grinned as the light sank into the rock-creature again, vanishing in seemingly the same fashion as it had the first time.

          "Come on, Blair boy, can't you do better than this?" he sneered, hands on hips.

          Blair didn't answer, instead watching the rock-creature as it halted its forward progress, wavering on its feet for a long moment before letting out a great roar and throwing itself forward with sudden, heart-shaking speed. It covered the short distance in a short, terrifying moment out of time, rearing above Blair in a ferocious attack so swift that the young man couldn't even step back before the fierce paw was sweeping downward.

          Jim didn't think, just acted, stepping in front of Blair just in time to receive the terrible blow, which caught him on the right side, the claws ripping his flesh from shoulder to hip. He wilted without even a cry, aware of Blair and Kira following him down as they refused to loose his hands. He wanted to tell Blair, to tell all of them, to run, that once the creature drew blood it would be too late, but he couldn't work words past the white-hot pain. That was how it had always worked in his nightmares, too, he remembered. He'd never been able to save those behind him, whatever he tried. And this was his nightmare made real.

          The creature reared again, roaring, a deep, bass sound that hurt Jim's ears, though he couldn't move to shield himself from it. It was the least of his problems right now, though, and he knew it.

          The roar turned to a squall, though, then to a shrill keening that made the Sentinel's wound ache fiercely. But he was too busy to really notice, watching with fascination as the creature fell to all fours, shrinking, shrinking, until it was only the size of a small lizard, which turned and scuttled back the way it had come, reaching the stupified Chris and climbing his leg furiously, as silent as lizards generally are.

          The group watched it go, stunned. Chris looked equally shocked, then stared across at them. "This isn't over, Blair! I will get you, I promise! I'll go back, find more friends, I'll be back–"

 _You made a deal_.

          The words reverberated through everyone's mind, and through the blackness threatening to take him down to unconsciousness, Jim saw them all wince. The words were understandable, but they had an inhuman feel to them that made the human mind cringe.

          Chris whitened. "And I'll fulfill it! Just a little more time, with some help–"

 _No_.

          The ashes of the bird figure stirred, then rose in a ruby-colored pillar of whirling flakes that moved to encircle Chris, wrapping him in a pale shroud. Dimly, Jim could see the lizard plastered on Chris' heart, glowing brighter and brighter.

          "No! No, no, no!" Chris' scream was heart-wrenching, and he fell to his knees. "Blair, please, help me, please! I didn't–"

          Jim lost the next words as Blair took a step toward Chris, horror and sympathy vivid across his face. "Chris!"

          "Chief, no, damn it!"

          "No, sir!"

          "Forget it, Blair!"

          The mutual outcry – and the fact that neither Jim nor Kira would release his hands – stopped Blair in his tracks, and the cloud thickened around Chris, sinking down into the ground and out of sight. A last sobbing cry drifted to them and then was gone.

          Blair stood rooted to the spot, staring after his erstwhile friend for a long moment, until Kira tugged at him, dropping to kneel next to Jim. "Blair!"

          The shaman turned, sighted Jim and took a swift pace back to drop beside him. "Oh, man." He loosed Kane and laid his free hand on Jim's heart. "This isn't physical, Jim." There was a pleading tone to his voice that made the Sentinel glance at him dubiously.

          "It was physical enough for you, Chief," he husked, trying to smile over the pain that made him want to writhe on the floor.

          Blair shook his head impatiently. "Not any more. I figured how to keep injuries sustained here off the material plane."

          "Well, then, do it already!" Kira said impatiently.

          Blair took a breath, seating himself cross-legged beside Jim and taking both his hands. "Think with me, Jim."

          "Right," Jim said hoarsely, trying not to pant. He closed his eyes, reaching hesitantly for a deeper use of the link, and relaxed when he felt Blair fall into pace with him.

          What happened next was forever beyond words for Jim. All he knew was that it felt like building a doorway. On one side was the metaphysical reality he was in now, and on the other was the physical world. His understanding of what Blair did stopped there, but he got the idea. Essentially, when he stepped back into his real life, he wouldn't hurt there, and that was all that interested him. He was going to be glad to leave the metaphysical behind for a while after this. Leave it to the shaman; he was a Sentinel, and right now that sounded like a damn good thing to be.

          He was dimly aware of Blair saying goodbye to Kira and Kane, but it was only a few moments of impatient waiting before the anthropologist joined him at the doorway again. "Ready?"

          "Yeah," said Jim shortly, then jerked in a breath as he almost fell into his body. He opened his eyes to find himself sitting on the floor, still holding both of Blair's hands in his.

          The younger man grinned at him, though Jim could see the exhaustion waiting to ambush him. "How you feelin'?"

          Jim dropped his friend's hands, then stretched cautiously, feeling the stiff muscles twinge. "Nothing that a good night's sleep and a workout won't take care of."

          "Great!" Blair bounced to his feet, his smile wide. "Cool, man! Hey, would you like some coffee? Or maybe some–"

          "What I'd like, Sandburg," Jim growled as he stood, catching the shaman by the shoulder before he could head toward the kitchen, "is some sleep. And you could use it, too." A glance at the clock revealed that it was five minutes after midnight, and he shook his head. Time over there really did run differently.

          Blair shook his head, his hair falling over his eyes. "No way, man, not for me. I'm too hyped, you know what I mean? I'll just study some before I head off to bed, if you're sure you don't want anything–?"

          "Chief," Jim managed to break into the barrage, not releasing his partner. "Sleep. That's what we both need. Just lie down for a minute," he added at Blair's obstinate expression. "That's all."

          Blair hesitated, then shrugged, heading toward his room as Jim released him. "All right. But I'm telling you, man, it's not going to work. I've got so much energy right now that it's a useless exercise."

          Jim waited, one foot on the first step of the stairs. He heard Blair crawl into bed and pull up the covers, snuggling into his pillow. "See, Jim," he muttered, "I told you…"

          The Sentinel smiled as the words trailed off into sleep, and headed up toward his own bed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Jim lay still, listening to the ragged breathing downstairs. Blair's heartbeat quickened, then with a last gasp he woke, panting for a moment as his heart slowed. The Sentinel heard him roll over, burying the tears in his pillow, and Jim sighed.

          This was the fifth night since the confrontation with Chris, and Blair always woke at least once, jerking out of what was obviously a nightmare. Sometimes he'd just get up, reading for the rest of the dark hours, sometimes he'd manage to get back to sleep, but he always cried at least once.

          He wouldn't let Jim into the link, either, or at least, not to share this. The officer grimaced, suspecting why. Blair was grieving for Chris, and obviously didn't think he'd get much sympathy from the Sentinel.

          And he was right, Jim acknowledged to himself. Chris had been an obsessed man, fanatic in his intention to either enslave or kill Blair, and the officer just couldn't find it in himself to regret his failure. He was better off dead, and everyone else was the better for it as well.

          Jim turned over, taking a restless breath. But Chris wasn't dead.

          And that was the crux of the matter, Jim knew. If Chris had died, Blair would've been able to accept it, even to feel relief about it, and to get on with his life. But Chris wasn't dead, or if he was, it was a death worse than any Blair would've ever wanted for him.

          And there wasn't a damn thing Blair could do about it. Chris had, for all practical purposes, made a deal with the devil and lost. There was no going back from that, and no absolution or salvation, either. Anything like that would have to come from Chris, not Blair, and the shaman knew it.

          Jim sighed and sat up, swinging his feet off the bed and shoving them into his house slippers.

          Padding downstairs, he heard Blair stifle the tears as a step creaked under his foot, and took a breath. Not letting himself think, he turned at the bottom of the steps and paced over to Blair's door, hesitating there for a long moment.

          "You can come in," Blair muttered into his pillow.

          Jim pushed the door open, pausing long enough to let his eyes adjust to the deeper darkness of the window-less room, then moved in and sat on the bed. "Want to talk about it?"

          "No."

          Jim sighed again, feeling somewhat at a loss. He wasn't used to being locked out of Blair's feelings anymore, and he hesitated, unsure how to proceed.

          "I know you think I'm being stupid."

          Jim opened his mouth. "Chief, I–"

          "I know he was going to kill us, okay? I know he was going to enslave me, kill you, probably kill Kira and Dane, and God only knows what he would've done with that kind of power if he could've pulled it off. I know all that!"

          Jim was silent, waiting.

          Blair took a ragged breath, impatiently wiping his nose as he pulled himself to a sitting position. "But he was still my friend. Once. And–" He stopped as his throat closed up.

          "And you wanted to help him."

          "Yes!" The low word had all the force of a shout. "Yes, damn it, I did! He didn't deserve what he got – no one does! And I can't find him!"

          Jim sat up straight. "You mean– You've _looked_ for him?" The answer was obvious, and he cursed silently.

          "Of course I looked!"

          "Alone?!"

          Blair took a bitter breath, all set to fling the words in Jim's face, then faltered, swallowing.

          The silence answered for him, and Jim ground his teeth, stifling the urge to reach over and strangle his shaman. "Damn it, Blair."

          "I had to, all right?!"

          "But why alone? I thought we agreed–"

          "You wouldn't have helped me!"

          Jim bit back the hot retort, and forced himself to think about it. "My job is to guard your back, Sandburg." He took a breath, then added levelly, "No matter what I think of what you're doing."

          There was silence for a long moment. "You mean you would've helped me?"

          Jim rubbed his eyes, then dropped his hand. "I don't know. I do know I wouldn't have let you go alone, no matter how I felt."

          The heated darkness cooled a few degrees. "Thanks."

          "You're welcome." Jim waited, then added, "So are you going to spend the rest of your life trying to rescue Chris from the choices he made?"

          So much for cooling down. The temperature hiked a few degrees, and Jim could feel the teeth clamped on the words as Blair spoke. "What do you mean?"

          Jim took a deep, steadying breath. "I remember what you said, about the difference between the roads you and Chris took. Do you think he could stand to look at himself in the mirror in the morning?"

          Blair paused. "No. Not if he really looked."

          "That's his choice, Chief. Don't you think you should stop trying to force yours down his throat?"

          Slowly, slowly, Jim felt the darkness lighten, and the bond between them began to relax.

          "I mean, Chief, if you find him somewhere, do you really think he'll have learned anything? Will he be able to look in the mirror now?"

          Jim felt the answer, and said softly, "Let him go, Blair. He made his choice, and you made yours. He has to find his own mirror and look in it. Maybe it's time to check out your own again."

          Blair took a deep breath, and the Sentinel heard the slide of cloth as his shoulder muscles relaxed. He smiled in the darkness and stood. "Oh, and by the way, Chief?"

          "Yeah?"

          "No more trips alone. Trust me, okay?"

          Blair inhaled again, then nodded. "Okay."

          Jim made his way to the door, glad his friend couldn't see the smile, and conveniently forgetting that with the link he didn't need to. "Good night, Chief."

          "Night, Jim." Blair waited until he heard Jim reach the top of the stairs, then said softly, "And thanks, partner."

          He felt Jim's flush, and smiled as he lay back down, relaxing into sleep.

 

[1] See Jody Norman's "Crossing the Edges of Reality," in _Sensory Overload #4_.

[2] See Jody Norman's "Across a Dark Room," _Sensory Overload #2_.

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